


Just Bearable

by storysweeper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Abused!Harry, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Powerful Harry, Rape Recovery, Severitus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-07-05 21:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 127,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storysweeper/pseuds/storysweeper
Summary: Just when fourth year couldn't get any worse, Harry must make revelations that could bring his entire world tumbling around his ears. With his friends being less than supportive, who will he turn to to make it through the toughest year of his life? Contains Mpreg. Abused!Harry. Severitus-ish. Contains mentions of rape and child abuse, but no details.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, as my bank account attests.

For the fifth – or possibly fiftieth – time in the past two days, Harry screamed at himself for what he was doing. Here he was, standing in front of Snape’s door, his fist raised to knock. All he had to do was let his knuckles fall and it would be over with. No. It would just begin. But still, he knew he needed to knock.

I need to do no such thing, he argued. But he did. No matter which way Harry turned the matter over in his mind, Professor Snape, hater of all things Gryffindor and Harry especially, was his only chance to get through this year somewhat intact.

In reality, this was not merely the fiftieth time he had considered this action, nor had he been thinking about it for just the last two days. It had been the beginning of his third year, when he had overheard a Slytherin telling her Ravenclaw friend that Professor Snape would always listen, and more importantly help, if the situation at the home of a student had become untenable. He remembered listening to the Ravenclaw crying about the things his parents were doing and how much tamer they seemed than the Dursleys. He remembered how horrified the Slytherin had been by the behaviour. Harry remembered how he had frozen in his seat in the library and had not moved until it was nearly curfew, earning a scolding from the Fat Lady. The most confusing thing for Harry was that it was somehow believable that grumpy, unreasonable Snape protected students who came to him; after all, he had always stopped Harry from being killed, in the end… 

By all measures of reasonableness, Harry recognised there was something wrong with his life at the Dursleys as somewhat not right. He had known since his first day of primary school, when no other child stumbled over their own name, only having been – forcibly – informed of it the week before; or blushed when asked to describe their bedroom. The teacher had thought he was joking and told him it was in bad taste. Since then, Harry’s greatest skill had been weaving a charmed life out of his own measly lot. The one other time he had tried to tell the truth… well, it had not gone well. 

That was why he had hesitated a year ago, and why he hesitated now. He knew he needed to knock, although a large part of him was still convinced that Snape would laugh in his face and tell him to get over it. He had thought his dilemma was solved when Sirius had come along. Quite apart from now having a Godfather to look up to and write to, he had thought that he had the threat of said Godfather to hang over the Dursleys. He had forgotten that Uncle Vernon was very well aware that he was too ashamed to tell anyone – especially someone he admired – what went on at Privet Drive. Silence was the first lesson he had been taught.

It didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t afford to have shame. He couldn’t afford to go back. And it wasn’t as if he admired Snape. Harry hated that it was his most hated professor he had to turn to, but Professor McGonagall had ignored him in the past… was ignoring him now… and Dumbledore never listened when he tried to tell about his home life. He didn’t know any of the other teachers very well and they were all turning their noses up at him since the Goblet; apart from Moody, admittedly, but he was a lunatic. Snape, much though he disliked the man… 

Actually, Harry wasn’t sure what he felt about Snape. Certainly, the man had done little to win Harry’s love, but he had never let that stand in the way of helping Harry. In first year, it had been Snape to stop Quirrell throwing him off his broom, and had watched out at the next Quidditch match, even though he must have seen right through their eleven year old suspicions and mutterings. And just last year, he had stepped in front of a werewolf to protect him, Ron and Hermione. Harry’s breathe caught at the memory. Yes, Sirius had distracted the werewolf (it hadn’t been Lupin at that point), rendering it unnecessary, but Snape hadn’t known that. He had been willing to be maimed, or even killed by a creature he must have been terrified of, after that incident between him and Sirius. But he had still stood in front of them. Harry had never had an adult protect him like that before, and in the middle of everything he had not been able to process it. Never been able to process it. Snape always helped him… between being the slimy git of the dungeons and humiliating Harry every chance he got.

Harry huffed a sigh. He had been over this argument a thousand times or more, but whichever way he looked at it, he was out of options. Once again he pulled back his fist to knock, ignoring how it was shaking, trying to keep his breathing steady. 

“Oi, Potter!”

Harry’s hand dropped to his side. He thought he might have even been a little bit relieved.

Malfoy sneered. “This is Slytherin territory and I know you don’t have a detention with Professor Snape. We don’t want you here. Although, from what I’ve heard the Gryffindorks don’t want you either.” Draco and his entourage snickered. Harry felt his neck heat up, but he kept his mouth shut. He did not need any more trouble. 

“What, no shouting? Know I’m right?” Malfoy came forward, until he was practically nose to nose with Harry, or rather nose to chin. Malfoy stood up straighter to accentuate the difference. Harry just continued to glare straight ahead. “You know they all hate you, right. They all only wanted to be your friend for your fame. Do you really think any of them liked you beyond your scar? From what I’ve heard they’re all glad to see the back of you.”

“Such a shame I have better things to do than listen in on the Slytherins,” Harry jibed, ignoring the stabbing pain that had developed in his chest at Malfoy’s words. “Otherwise I’d tell you exactly what they think of you. Although I can guess.” Harry shoved past Malfoy, set to leave the dungeons. He should have known this would be a waste of time.

He didn’t want them to see how much Malfoy’s words hurt him, or how much he detested the Potter Stinks badges blaring at him from the chests of the entire student body. Ever since his name had come out of that stupid Goblet, he had been ostracised by even his own House. That was why he was down here in the first place, rather than talking to the people – up until two weeks ago – he had trusted with his life and beyond. That’s what he told himself, anyway. 

This year would have been hard enough with his friends and without this stupid tournament, but as things stood, Harry knew he was on the precipice of a nervous breakdown. Everything had finally pushed him to the brink. That was why he was here. Malfoy just wasn’t entitled to see it.

Harry was brought up short when he walked straight into Crabbe and Goyle. Of course, Harry thought. Malfoy never went anywhere without his goons. 

“Let me past,” Harry ordered, his voice low but commanding… he hoped. Crabbe smirked and Goyle cracked his knuckles, but neither moved.

“Scared, Potter?” Malfoy’s said in a smug tone.

Harry gulped. In truth, he was. He couldn’t fight them. Not only was it three on one, in enemy territory, but he also needed Snape’s good will and that would not be got by hexing his favourite students. Again, Harry cursed the fact that it was Snape he had to turn to. As it was, he just stood his ground, staring into the musty folds of Goyle’s chest. He resisted the urge to wrap an arm around his stomach.

“You asked for it Potter.”

Harry braced himself for the hex he knew would be coming his way. He had felt Malfoy remove his wand and aim it, but he had been backed into a corner, both literally and metaphorically. Oh well, Harry reasoned. Even if Malfoy did some damage, the worst that could happen would be that you wouldn’t have to tell Snape. Harry cringed at the thought, asking forgiveness even as the flippancy left his consciousness

“No filthy little mudblood to defend you now. Pet-”

“Mr Malfoy!” 

Never had Harry been so grateful to hear his Potion Master’s voice. And did he just berate Malfoy?

“What is going on here? Potter in the dungeons. My my, did I forget an assigned detention, when I have so few real pleasures in my life?” He was back to a purr now. That couldn’t be a good sign. Harry could feel Snape’s gaze boring into his back, but he kept his eyes straight ahead. He was too close to the edge. Malfoy had pushed him to close. They couldn’t see it…

“Professor, Potter was threatening-”

“Silence,” Snape intoned. A swish of robes indicated that he was moving.

“Miss Fawley-” Malfoy squeaked. Snape continued. “You were a witness?”

“Yes, sir,” a voice from behind Crabbe sounded. “I was just about to intervene. Potter was about to knock on your door when these three approached him. Potter was trying to leave when Malfoy pulled his wand.”

“Really?” Snape pause, seemingly uninterested. “Mr Potter, where is your wand?”

Harry still did not dare look up. He just reached into his inner robe pocket and took out his wand. He could not disguise the way his hand was shaking. He could feel Crabbe snicker as he saw it too. The bigger boy had still not moved from his wall like position in front of Harry. Harry hated feeling trapped.

Snape gave a loud sniff. “Very well,” he paused, as if considering. “Miss Fawley, please escort Mr Potter back to where he belongs. Mr Malfoy, Mr Crabbe, Mr Goyle. In my office. We need to discuss your language. Mr Potter, if you had anything important to say, address it to Miss Fawley, I’m sure any problems the boy hero might be having are well within her capabilities.”

“But sir-”

“Now, Mr Malfoy.”

With another sweep of robes, Harry was suddenly left alone, Crabbe having followed his Head of House with little more protest than a grunt… and a quick shove of Harry’s shoulder. With them gone Harry finally dared to look up. In front of him, hovering on the stairs was a seventh year Harry vaguely recognised as this year’s Head Girl. He hadn’t realised it was a Slytherin. She took a step forwards.

“Hi. Are you okay? I think I saw everything, but do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey or anything?” she sounded almost as if she cared. Who knew Slytherin’s could experience compassion. Or at least fake it.

Harry shook his head. He knew he would have to go to the Hospital Wing at some point, but he wasn’t ready yet and it wasn’t as if Malfoy had actually managed anything.

“My name’s Lyra,” she said, shaking out her long, straight walnut hair, which had got caught in the collar of her robes. Her deep brown eyes seemed warm, but Harry couldn’t believe them. Nobody had given him such a friendly look since his name had come out of the Goblet. Not even Professor McGonagall, and she had seemed to believe him. The Slytherin must want something. “Lyra Fawley.” She almost looked as if she was about to offer him a hand, but then thought the better of it.

“Harry Potter,” Harry muttered, making an effort to look her in the eyes. To be fair to her, she just quirked a corner of her mouth at the unnecessary introduction.

“Nice to meet you. Shall we get going? We can talk on the way back to the Fat Lady.”

“You know where the door is?” Harry asked, bewildered, even as he lurched forward to follow her.

“Head Boy and Girl are told where all the Common Rooms are, otherwise we’d be a bit useless for directions and the like. Plus I had a couple of friends in Gryffindor, but they graduated last year. I used to walk back with them from Astronomy.”

 

“Oh,” was all Harry could think of to say. He didn’t know any Gryffindors would be friends with a Slytherin, however nice on the surface.

As they mounted the stairs to the second floor, after a good five minutes of silence, he remembered his circumstances again. 

“You don’t have to walk back with me, you know.”

“It’s fine. Professor Snape will ask, so I need to make sure. Plus, you haven’t told me why you were going to see him, anyway.”

“It was nothing. Homework question. I’ll just get going,” Harry blustered, hoping that she didn’t realise he was heading in the wrong direction. He didn’t think she would. She must have just overheard someone talking about the Fat Lady. Gryffindors were never friends with Slytherins. Just as his breathing began to even out as he went further down the corridor, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, causing him to jump and yelp.

“I’m surprised you knew about Snape’s Sunday evening open door policy, but I’m sure I can help. I’m taking my NEWT in potions, so fourth year should be manageable,” she smiled. “Let’s take a look.”

Harry’s heart sank. “I left it in the Common Room.”

“Well, you can show me when we get back. If it would make you more comfortable I can even wait in the corridor,” she winked.

“Well-”

“Come on then. First things first is getting back to the Tower. Why were you going this way? If you still don’t know the quickest way to your own Common Room you really must be hopeless. And here I was thinking it was that Longbottom boy that was in need of a compass.”

There was nothing Harry could do as he was steered expertly through the castle to exactly where he did not want to go, his new best friend chattering away. This was the most conversation he had had in two weeks and not one word of it was filtering through the white noise clouding his brain. 

“Well. Go on in and pick up your homework,” a tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality. A reality where he was standing in front of a frowning Fat Lady, with Lyra looking at him with a mixture of expectation and knowing scepticism. 

“Umm…”

“Harry!”

Far from being saved by that distraction, Harry whipped round to be faced with a pink faced Hermione, who was returning from the Library judging by the pile of books in her arms. “Harry! Are you moving back in? I- look I don’t think that’s a good idea. I know it’s not fair and they’re being horrible, but things have been easier since-” Hermione pulled up short when she finally noticed the Head Girl standing in the shadows by Harry. She must have picked it up from Snape, Harry thought.

Lyra smiled at Hermione, but for the first time it didn’t reach her eyes. “Harry was just asking my help with a homework question, but it seems to be sorted now. I’ll just be leaving.” And with that she turned around and went away. Harry tried not to let the disappointment rip at his heart too much. Yet another person ignoring what was right in front of them.

When Lyra was out of sight Hermione cleared her throat and Harry was forced to look at the pinched expression on her face.

“Look Harry…” Hermione began. “They wouldn’t be happy if I gave you the password. I know this is just awful, but if you go to Professor McGonagall it would all be sorted out. And you did bring it on yourself. Oh, that doesn’t matter. This isn’t right and I don’t agree with it, but I can’t be in the middle, you see.” She refused to look him in the eye and made a gesture for him to move aside. 

Harry complied, letting her gain access to the entrance. As she came level, he saw the knitting poking out of her bag. “How are Elf rights going?” he asked, unable to ignore the irony.

Neither could Hermione, she squared her shoulders, whispered the password so Harry couldn’t hear and slipped through the hole without a second look, shutting it quickly behind her, as if to stop him sneaking in.

Harry stood in the corridor for a second, fending off the wave of hurt that assaulted him. That had been the most civil conversation he had had with either of his friends since this had all started. There was no point in it. He had always known it was too good to last. He should just be grateful he had had a good three years with Ron and Hermione’s support. There was no point being upset. It had always just been a matter of time before they realised how worthless he was, just like Uncle Vernon had said. 

Shoving his fists into his eyes to stave off the just forming tears, Harry turned and moved away from the Fat Lady’s pitying sighs. He was fine. He would sort it out himself, just like always. He moved in a daze down two flights of stairs and into the east corridor, allowing his feet to carry him to the abandoned classroom he had found two weeks ago, when the twins had helped him smuggle his things out of the dormitories, after he had walked in on a couple of fifth years rifling through his belongings, nearly destroying his photo album in the process. 

He fell through the door and went to check that his belongings were still safely stowed in the broom cupboard, which was doubling as his bedroom – there was part of him that couldn’t help but associate it with the safe space of his cupboard; Uncle Vernon could never fit properly in there with him. He laid his invisibility cloak and photo album down on top of his small pile of folded clothes, checking to see that neither had been damaged in the course of the day. He knew it was probably safer for them to remain here, but after seeing the only remaining links to his parents being tossed across the room, he couldn’t bear to leave them and had taken to hiding them in the seemingly never ending expanses of his uniform pockets, never once thinking on the fact that none of his peers seemed to have the same commodity.

While he was so preoccupied in his checks, Harry never heard the door reopen, and so did not turn round to see the sudden, horrified understanding settle in the Head Girl’s eyes. Lyra stood stock still in the doorway, not wanting to spook Harry as he inspected his meagre possessions. From that angle, she could just make out a pile of rags in the shape of some sort of nest-cum-bed, with a blanket folded neatly on top, and an ordered pile of books off to the side. The classroom itself held no evidence of its occupant, despite the fact that she had no doubt he had been there for some days, based on her brief observations of the Gryffindor’s treatment of their champion. Her blood boiled at the thought of this young boy – he really did look impossibly young, hunched over a dog eared album – being ostracised so completely by those who were supposed to be supporting him. 

But, as much as she wanted to go and scream at Professor McGonagall for allowing such activity in her House, the rational part of her brain told Lyra that there must be more to it than just a simple rejection by his Housemates; why else would he have gone to Professor Snape, over and above a more Gryffindor-inclined – or Harry-inclined - staff member. 

Her first job was to stop standing there like a ninny and actually get the boy to talk.

She cleared her throat.

Harry started at the sudden sound. He jumped up and slammed the door shut on his hidey-hole, praying that whoever had walked in on him hadn’t seen anything. He had just got comfortable, and really didn’t want to move. Spinning round, he was caught off guard to see the Head Girl – Lyra? – was standing there, watching him with a steady gaze. He looked away, uncomfortable.

“Hi,” he said, lamely.

“Hi,” she said, her voice as immovable as her gaze.

Harry squared his shoulders. It wouldn’t do to show weakness to a Slytherin, even if she had seemed nice. “I was just looking for somewhere to do my homework. Here looked quiet.”

She nodded. “Yes. And a good enough distance from the dorm to not be disturbed by troublemakers.”

“I-” he hesitated. “No one’s been bothering me, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just… wanted some peace. You know, with the tournament and everything.” He hoped she didn’t notice the sickly swallow that accompanied that statement.

Lyra paused. “I just meant the Weasley twins. I can’t imagine it’s easy to study with them around,” she said with a smile. 

Harry smiled back, weakly.

“So, since we’re here,” Lyra stepped forward, but stopped when Harry stepped back into the wall. “I can help you with your potions homework. It must be bad if you went to Professor Snape for help.” She tried a mischievous, conspiratorial look, but it fell flat. Harry just continued to squirm. 

“I don’t have it with me,” Harry lied. He just wanted her to leave. This so wasn’t on his terms anymore. He had lost all control of the situation… although he knew he was kidding himself if he believed he had any control to begin with. 

Lyra’s face fell. She sighed. “Really, I’m sure I just saw your schoolbooks next to that bed you made.”

Harry paled. He had no idea how he was still standing with how badly he was shaking. The nausea he had managed to shake off since dinner was now making its presence known tenfold. 

Lyra stepped forward again, and this time there was nowhere for Harry to go. She was so close to him now… taking advantage of his shocked paralysis she reached round him and pulled open the cupboard door. He didn’t think he even breathed as she surveyed the pathetic little nest he had made for himself, taking in everything from the rags he hoped she wouldn’t identify as clothes, to his piles of detailed notes. 

When she moved to step into the space, though, he finally snapped out of it. “NO!” he shouted, lurching to one side to block the entrance. She nodded, her expression unreadable. 

“Okay. I’m sorry, Harry, that was rude of me,” Lyra slowly stepped back and found a chair to perch on, well out of arms reach of Harry, who looked taut as a bow string. “Harry, why did you go to see Professor Snape?”

“I told you. I had a question about-”

“I know it wasn’t homework,” Lyra snapped. Harry gulped. She sighed and actively seemed to calm herself. “Everyone knows how you and Professor Snape feel about each other, so it must have been something important. The fact that you don’t feel you can go to your own Head of House is terrible and the fact that your Housemates have thrown you out is nothing short of disgusting,” she pulled up short as Harry averted his gaze. She didn’t want to make him cry, but something had to be done. “You shouldn’t have to deal with everything on your own. Everybody needs help sometimes and someone needs to deal with this. All I want to do is help, I promise.”

She paused, as Harry peeked out from under his scruffy mop of hair, looking pathetically hopeful. With that encouragement, she continued, “All I want to do is get someone who can help. Professor Flitwick, or Sprout, or… maybe not Hagrid, but-”

Harry couldn’t help himself, he snickered.

“Why did you want to see Professor Snape, Harry?”

He couldn’t meet her gaze. He wanted to tell, but…

“You can’t let a little ferret like Malfoy stop you. Please, Harry. If you need help with your dorm… If you don’t-”

The Malfoy comment drew a small smile from Harry. Maybe if she wasn’t one of the sycophants, she might actually be… something approaching trustworthy? “I heard some kids talking. Last year. They said he would listen. About home. That he would help…” Harry trailed off, unable to articulate further. Even the effort of that confession had him sliding to the floor, until his knees were drawn up to his eyes. Merlin, how had he thought he would be able to talk to Snape about this?

Lyra was thrown for a loop. Of course, she knew about Professor Snape’s penchant for assisting children with less than perfect backgrounds. Silas, her year mate had gone to him in their second year, because his stepfather was being a bastard. Snape had kept Silas completely shielded as he spoke to his mother about what was going on, the eventual divorce and helped mother and son reconnect, all while making sure no one – not even in their own house – found out about it. It was a commonly known secret among facets of Hogwart’s students that Snape was not as complete a git as he acted in class.

But for Harry Potter…

Taking a deep breath she looked down at the huddled child in front of her. She didn’t really know much about him, beyond the fact that he was Harry Potter. Most people thought he was a bit of a disappointment. Some said a liar. How could be claim he stopped You-Know-Who, when he was so… ordinary? Nothing special. He was a good seeker, but apart from that… Most of the Slytherins in his year were always laughing about the fact that he would probably fail all his classes if it weren’t for that Granger girl. There were always stories floating about, like that business with the Chamber of Secrets, but mainly that was just an excuse to bully the Boy Who Lived. Generally he was regarded as a painfully average boy who had little right to claim to be the Hero of the Wizarding World.

She only ever saw him in the company of Granger and the youngest Weasley boy. Occasionally Longbottom, she supposed, and he was on the Quidditch team, but generally he kept to himself. She couldn’t claim to have really paid any attention to him, but since the Goblet, she doubted he had exchanged a pleasant word with anyone, really. Even his friends had abandoned him. Merlin, two friends in three years. He was just a quiet boy, who wanted to have a safe time at school. And now, if he needed to talk to Professor Snape…

“Harry,” she almost whispered, afraid to spook him. “Harry, are you having problems at home?”

He scoffed and raised his head a fraction, although continued to keep his eyes screwed to his knees. “You could say that.”

“Professor Snape can help, if you need him to, but so can your own Head of House. Professor McGonagall is-”

“Not interested,” Harry said, bitterness colouring his tone. “She doesn’t even care that…” he trailed off, his head finally turning around, as if to look through the now closed door.

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Lyra said, hoping it wasn’t. Harry didn’t respond. “I can get Professor Snape, Harry. But, you’re going to have to talk to him. You know what he’s like, even I’ll admit that, and he’s not going to be happy if you just say you heard someone talking,” still he didn’t respond, just keeping his face flush against the cupboard door. “He can only help if you talk to him. I’m going to trust you, Harry. Do you want me to call him?”

He had no choice but to answer this time. It was crunch time. He recognised that. He closed his eyes as they prickled again. He was sick of not being in control of his emotions, but it was finally getting too much for him. If he made it through this year without a complete breakdown, he would be impressed. He huffed out a sigh and finally looking into the sincere eyes of Lyra. 

“I don’t have a choice anymore. I can’t go back there. I can’t-” he cut himself off again. She probably didn’t notice the way he stroked his stomach ever so slightly, feeling the slight hardening there. 

Lyra nodded. It was enough, she hoped, that Professor Snape wouldn’t be angry. After a moment’s consideration she decided, “I’m going to call Professor Snape here, that way we can avoid another run in with Malfoy. There’s an advantage to being Head Girl. You see this badge?” Harry nodded, of course he saw it. “If I press my wand to it and say the name of a Professor, they come to it, like a homing beacon. Or, I can just say come and the nearest person comes. And you get a hell of a detention if you abuse it, I’ve heard.” Harry winced, thinking about what would happen to the poor sod who messed with that system. 

Lyra pointed her want tip to her chest. “I can call someone else. Are you sure you want Professor Snape?”

Harry took a deep breath. Was he sure? Of course not. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He thought he could be sure about Ron and Hermione, but that wasn’t the case. He thought he could be sure that magic could solve anything, but the Goblet proved that was bollocks. The only thing he was sure of, however illogical it was, was that he felt Snape was the right person to reach out to. However shitty it was, Snape’s attitude had never changed the way the other Professor’s had: when they’d seen he wasn’t as talented as they thought he would be – they thought he hadn’t seen the disappointment on their faces; or when he’d been caught out of bed in first year; or when everyone thought he was Slytherin’s heir; or when the dementors kept making him faint. Snape had been a complete git throughout. And had helped him throughout, despite all of that and whatever had caused the enmity towards Harry’s father.

Harry nodded.

Lyra checked that her wand tip was on the Hogwarts insignia and said in a clear voice, “Professor Snape.”

Harry half expected the overgrown bat to materialise in the room immediately.

“I’ll just go and wait outside for him,” Lyra said. “Will you be okay in here on your own for a bit?” Harry nodded. He didn’t blame her for being uncomfortable. He knew that would only get worse when the whole story came out. 

Lyra went outside to forewarn the snarky professor that tact might be required in this instance, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. Finally, his bum began to get cold, sitting on the stone cold floor, so he heaved himself up onto one of the chairs and resisted the urge to lay his head on the desk. It was probably the most dignified position he could hope to meet Snape in. 

Harry sighed. He hated stasis. Not knowing what was going to happen next. Usually, he could make a pretty accurate reading of a situation and behave accordingly to try and slip just below notice. Try not to be a threat to anyone. That didn’t always work, with the wizarding world’s expectations of the bloody ‘Boy Who Lived’, but usually he managed just fine coasting along in the middle. That was going to be blown out of the water now. No more hiding. Everything was going to come out. He swallowed down the bile in his throat yet again. He would have to give in to it eventually, he knew, but he would not show any more weakness than he could help.

Just as he was beginning to wonder whether it would be too presumptuous to gather up his belongings – who knew, maybe Snape would decide living in the cupboard would keep him in check, like his relatives – the door swung open, to reveal an ominously impassive Snape and a nervous looking Lyra. 

Harry gulped. Maybe he should have gone for Sprout instead.

“Well, Mr Potter,” Snape drawled. “You wished to speak with me.”

Harry nodded, but at Snape’s raised eyebrow he found his voice. “Yes sir,” he croaked and coughed, trying to clear his suddenly tight throat.

Snape stepped fully into the classroom and turned a chair round so he was facing Harry, although kept two rows between them, for which Harry was grateful. Unable to think of how to proceed, Harry stared at the table.

They stayed in that position for what felt like an hour, although must have been at most five minutes. 

“Mr Potter, need I remind you that it is past curfew,” Snape said, somewhat more threateningly than necessary, Harry thought.

“No, sir,” Harry coughed again. “I know. I-” he was cut off by that tightness again.

Snape sneered, although with less force than usual.

“Nippy,” he called and before Harry could come to the conclusion that Snape had lost his mind, a small, put together House Elf appeared. 

“Yes Master Snape,” she said politely. “What might Nippy be getting for yous?

“We would be grateful for some tea,” Snape said, not taking his eyes off Harry. “And some biscuits as well. I do not recall encountering Mr Potter at dinner.”

Harry flinched. He didn’t like the idea of being watched and it almost seemed as if Snape was accusing him of something.

Nippy whipped round to see Harry and smiled at him. Harry sort of recognised her from the sea that always greeted him in the kitchens. 

“Yes Master Snape, but Harry Potter was having dinner in the kitchen. He be having vegetable soup and fruit salad.”

Snape’s eyebrows went up again. “Really, Nippy?”

“Oh yes, Master Snape,” Nippy nattered, blissfully unaware of the hole she was digging for Harry. “Harry Potter be coming to the kitchens at least once a day for the last three weeks. We be keeping him healthy, for he be looking very peaky.”

“Yes,” Snape said, not taking his eyes off Harry. “I am pleased someone has been taking care of his wellbeing.”

Nippy beamed, before popping out to get their order. She returned approximately ten seconds later with a laden tea set and popped out again with a cheerful bow.

Snape said nothing as he poured the tea. Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

“The twins showed me where the entrance was. I didn’t think it was against the rules. Sir,” he added, to be on the safe side.

“No, it’s not against the rules to visit the kitchens, although discouraged. I would have thought with all your wanderings you would have found it years ago,” Snape turned round to hand a cup to Lyra, who was loitering in the corner. 

“Never came up before,” Harry muttered, taking a sip of the soothing herbal tea. He minutely relaxed as the soft heat spread through his back-flipping stomach.

“As I said, I am pleased you have been eating. Your portions in the Great Hall have been rather paucitous. I have spoken to Professor McGonagall about it.” 

Harry scoffed.

Snape’s eyebrows had to be working overtime. “We have both noticed a certain drop off in your appetite recently.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit difficult to eat with everyone glaring at you,” Harry stated, glaring a hole in the table.

Snape looked over his nose at Harry as he took a drag of tea. “I am to assume that Miss Fawley’s observations are accurate and you are currently living in a disused broom cupboard.”

Harry jerked up to look at him directly. He hadn’t thought that was still in question. It was certainly not what this meeting was about, so he nodded dumbly.

“Then might not Professor McGonagall be the better party to inform?”

“That’s not the problem I need to- And anyway, she doesn’t care. She won’t even look at me in class.” Harry looked away again, because at that moment he really wanted to shave of Snape’s eyebrows, just to stop them going up and down like that, all judgemental. 

“Indeed. Well, we shall come to that later, although I doubt very much that you are correct in your conclusions. Now, while I do not particularly wish to press you, would you be so kind as to tell me exactly why you have dragged me halfway across the castle, after curfew, to sit in a draughty classroom, on a Sunday, to watch you try to light a desk on fire with your eyes.”

By Snape’s standards, he was being positively restrained, but Harry knew he had reached the capacity of the Potion Master’s good will. 

“I am waiting, Mr Potter.”

Harry tried, he really did. He kept opening his mouth, but the words kept getting stuck in his permanently dry throat. He wondered if Nippy had accidentally made the tea out of sawdust, or something.

Lyra stepped forward, unable to watch Harry flounder any longer, as Snape’s eyes grew darker and darker. “He said he can’t go back home. He sounded… scared. He said he’s had problems with his family.”

“Relatives,” Harry corrected, quietly. He hated thinking of Privet Drive as his home and relatives were different from family. As disastrous as this year was turning out, Hogwarts was still more home to him that anywhere with the Dursleys and between times he had been given a taste of family with the Weasleys. The Dursleys were not his family.

“Indeed,” Snape said, his face impassive again. “Would you care to elaborate on that statement, Mr Potter?”

Harry looked up, trying to control his breathing. Lyra was behind Snape, nodding encouragingly. That small show of support gave him enough courage to start.

Harry lowered his shoulders. “My relatives hate me, sir. They always have.” He let out a long huff. That was the first time he had admitted that out loud. He had said it in so many words to Ron and Hermione, but never… it was strange to just say it.

Snape didn’t even twitch. “Indeed,” he drawled again. “While I’m sorry that your family-” Harry flinched. “-does not treat you with the same reverence as your fan club is wont, I fail to see how this requires my intervention.”

Harry coloured. It was the same as always. Nobody took him seriously. The Dursleys were good upstanding citizens who put up with their scruffy nephew. What could Harry have to complain about? Why did he believe Snape would help, when no one else did? 

“Professor Snape-” Lyra started, disapproval colouring her tone.

“Why have you decided to approach someone now?” Snape asked, cutting her off and holding Harry in the iron grip of his gaze. “If this – whatever this is – has been going on for so long, why now?”

That was easy. “I have told people before. They never believed me. There were never any marks and the Dursleys have a nice house and Aunt Petunia’s on lots of committees…”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Mr Potter, but you have not answered me question. I am now going to give you two choices and if you do not take one of them, I will leave. I have potions brewing for the Hospital Wing and do not have time for cryptic half-truths. You may either tell me what their treatment of you is that makes you think you are unsafe to return, or you may tell me why you are now coming forward, if their treatment of you has been wanting for as long as you claim.”

Harry knew he was bright red. In embarrassment or anger, he didn’t know. What did Snape want from him? A full rundown on the specifics of thirteen years of hatred when he spent most of his time trying to forget everything he could about it? He was trying, couldn’t Snape see that? Once again, he was just being treated like a petty child who wasn’t being allowed ice cream. Like that time Dudley had called Child Protective Services, because Aunt Petunia wouldn’t let him have a second remote control truck. Harry remembered the tone the policeman had used to Dudley over that incident. It was probably the first time the fat lout had been properly told off in his life. After the policeman had left, Aunt Petunia had showered a tearstained Dudley with praise for being so brave and Uncle Vernon had taken them out for dinner to make up for it. Harry had listen to all this from his cupboard, under threat of a what for if he made a noise. He remembered, at seven, praying that the policeman would question the need for three locks and a vent on a boot cupboard, but the man never noticed.

As these thoughts ran through his head, Harry could feel the anger in him deflating, leaving behind nothing but hollow emptiness. Without the anger, he could almost see the determination in Snape’s eyes. As much as he could have been nicer about it, Snape was right, without some sort of information, there was no reason for Snape to help. ‘I don’t get on with my relatives,’ was not a good enough reason to be removed from their care and he needed to be. As much as he sort of wanted to say nothing, just to watch Snape’s strategy of goading him into talking fail, Harry knew that if he went back he would be killed and, worse than that…

And it wasn’t as if someone wouldn’t notice eventually. 

Harry knew he needed help. So what to say.

“I know you hate me sir, but you have to believe me. You have to!” Harry blurted out.

Snape’s jaw tightened and a strange emotion flitted across his face. After a moment, the man let out a breath, “I can hardly claim to have any cause to hate a student, no matter how irritating. Now would you please get to the point.” 

Snape had been watching emotions play across Harry’s face for a good two minutes when defeated resolve settled on the teenagers pallid face. In the end, two words summed up the situation and its seriousness.

“I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first uploaded story and (constructive) feedback would be greatly appreciated, AKA please leave a comment!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews!!!

“I’m pregnant.”

Out of all the things they had expected Harry Potter to say, that was not it. 

Severus stared dumbly. Ever since he had joined the Hogwarts staff he had made it his duty to help those children that needed it. Over the years he had helped dozens of children, either to get away from their homes, or reintroduce families that had somehow fallen apart. However many time he did it, it never got any easier, but with a calm, measured, external viewpoint, he had managed to get by with barely a falter, managing to avoid blame and recrimination, and keep his distance.

This time though, it was Lily’s child. Not James Potter reincarnated. Lily’s child. A child he had supposedly hated for the past three years. A child that was now sitting in front of him, saying he was pregnant – which was pretty ridiculous, considering there hadn’t been a natural male pregnancy, that Severus knew of, in the last fifty years – living in a cupboard, seemingly not at all perturbed with the arrangement, and about to take part in one of the most dangerous tournaments in the wizarding world. And he was coming to Severus, his reviled potion’s professor, who had gone out of his way to berate and belittle the boy for three years.

He needed to stay calm. He didn’t know the whole story. All he had was supposition. He didn’t know how to approach this. In all his years of teaching and trying to help abused children this was a first. Of course, Hogwarts had seen its share of teen pregnancy, but not with these implications…

Ignoring Lyra, who had collapsed into the nearest chair at that revelation, Severus found his voice and somehow managed to keep it level. He couldn’t assume the worst yet and it wouldn’t do to let the boy see how shaken he was. There was no need to treat the boy any differently… yet.

“Mr Potter, male pregnancy is extremely rare without the aid of fertility potions. Have you, or your partner been taking such potions?”

Potter was a strange, mottled combination of bright red and ghostly pale. Severus resisted the urge to push the brats head between his knees. “No sir.”

“Then why are you so sure you are pregnant?”

“Because- because it happened before,” Potter was completely white now; maybe tinged with green, which seemed to make his eyes glow even more than usual. 

“You have been pregnant before?” Severus hadn’t had to occlude this thoroughly since the Dark Lord’s reign. Merlin, he wished the boy would look away – it was so hard to see Lily’s eyes so… but Lily’s eyes were never so full of pain.

Potter nodded, licking his lips and swallowing convulsively. “In second year. I- I lost h’m…” The boy ducked his head, trying to hide the tears welling up. 

Severus took pity. “We shall come back to that,” Severus could hardly think, the inference of what the boy was saying turning his mind into a whirlpool; a miscarriage at twelve? Was that what the boy was saying? There was no way they could go into that now. No point in making the boy hysterical. It helped his decision that he wasn’t sure he could cope with the details at that moment.

He was unpleasantly aware of Miss Fawley behind him; as much as he wanted her to leave, he didn’t think Potter being alone with his snarky potions professor would be conducive to this conversation and the fact that Potter had called on him proved that he did not trust the rest of the staff enough with this information – he really must be feeling isolated. “Mr Potter, for how long have you been sexually active?”

Potter shrugged, swiping at his nose. “I dunno. It’s… complicated, I guess. I don’t know when… I didn’t know…”

Severus changed tack, not wanting to pull on that string before the culprit had been identified.

“Is your partner a student at Hogwarts?” he couldn’t assume it was the relatives. Surely Albus would have known. There was no way Severus had been verbally abusing a child who was being raised by molesters. 

Potter’s head shot up again. “No, sir! I’m not… I don’t have a partner, sir. And I’m not active!” he spat. “Hogwarts is s- safe.” While the boy’s voice cracked slightly, he still managed to maintain eye contact with Severus, allowing him a window into the open honesty of Harry’s statements.

Gryffindor boldness shone through again. A shimmering anger that was always the undercurrent in his dealings with Potter – could what he had always seen as arrogant defiance have been a defence mechanism all this time?

“Then who, Mr Potter, is the sire of your child?” Even as he said it, praying that he was wrong and it would turn out to be a muggle playmate, experimenting without realising the consequences, Severus knew what the answer would be.

Harry squared his shoulders again and jutted out his chin. For once, Severus respected the courage that was the marker of a true Gryffindor, although hated the pride and bravado that had stopped him coming forward to them sooner. 

“My Uncle, sir. And if I go back with a baby, he’ll kill us both. I can’t go back. I don’t care what Professor Dumbledore says. I won’t go back this time. There has to be somewhere else.” He was sounding desperate again by the end.

Severus nodded. He had to gather his thoughts, to stop himself from hurtling to wherever it was Potter lived and killing the bastard, painfully, and then come back and throttle Albus. All these years, Albus had told him that Potter lived with a good family, with access to every amenity, when really… they would be having words. He could not rationally discuss this with Potter at that moment, and Potter needed Severus to be rational, or he would go running for the hills, or Forbidden Forest, or something equally foolish.

The easiest way to quell the murderous rage building up inside him was to concentrate on the practicalities of the situation. There was a supposedly pregnant – he still needed to check that out and make sure Potter wasn’t just overreacting – abused, bullied and ostensibly homeless teenager in front of him and it was now well past curfew. Potter, he could now see was having a panic attack, his breath coming in short bursts and he was shaking so badly, Severus could practically feel tremors. Really though, the child was holding himself together impressively.

He realised he had been silent for too long when Potter cried out desperately, “I swear I’m telling the truth!”

Knocked out of his trance, Severus purred, “Mr Potter, I do not think you are lying,” Potter visibly relaxed, and almost looked ready to cry. Severus channelled his energies into keeping his voice composed and professional, which hopefully would keep the child calm. Merlin, he really was just a child. “I think it would be best if we continued this conversation in somewhat more official surroundings.” He wanted to get the boy out of the location of his self-imposed exile, but it amounted to the same thing. “Gather your possessions,” he ordered. Potter got to his feet, a little shaky and pale, but compos mentis. 

Severus turned to Miss Fawley, who looked thoroughly shaken by the revelations she had been witness to. In all honesty, if Severus had known what Potter was going to say, he would have sent her out of the room, but she had wanted to support the boy and both had foolishly assumed it was some sort of recent misunderstanding.

“Miss Fawley, shall we wait outside?” it wasn’t a suggestion. Severus wanted to give Harry… Potter time to collect himself and doubted very much he wanted to be watched while packing. 

Just as they were about to leave, Potter stopped him. 

“Sir,” the boy had a deep blush plastered over his pale cheeks. “I- I don’t have a bag or… well, I have my book bag, but I mean I don’t have-”

“You don’t have your trunk?” Severus surmised.

“No, sir.”

“How then, did you move into your new residence?” maybe Severus could wean some more information about that particular state of affairs without too much trouble.

“The twins- the Weasley twins, Fred and George-”

“I am familiar.”

Potter’s blush deepened. He was sweating now. “They snuck out my stuff in an expanding bag, but they needed it back, so I shoved it all in here. They don’t know where I am. They want to help, but they’re still in Gryff- I mean, they still live in the Tower. And… yeah. My trunk wouldn’t fit in here anyway, so-”

“And when did this ousting take place?” Severus levelled.

“Ummm. A couple of days after the Goblet gave my name, I guess.”

Two weeks. The boy’s back must be killing him and Severus was surprised he didn’t have hypothermia, the way these abandoned classrooms were heated. Potter must have been using some heating charm or other. “And who was the cause of this… exodus?” Severus asked through gritted teeth.

“Ummm,” Potter prevaricated.

“I will find out, Mr Potter. There is no reason to defend your Housemates’ disloyalty to me.”

“It wasn’t all of them!” Potter shouted.

“Then whom?” Severus wondered what had made the Gryffindor Golden Boy flee his warm bed, especially in his supposed condition.

“Nobody,” Potter said, keeping his eyes down.

“Mr Potter,” Severus warned, tired of such foolishness when there much more pressing matters to which to attend.

Potter rubbed his toe on the ground, like a guilty toddler, but eventually piped up, “McLaggen and his goons were rifling through my stuff. They said they were trying to find out how I crossed the age line, but they were just breaking stuff. They’ve never liked me.”

Severus stayed silent, wondering if the impetuous child would share more. He was rewarded.

“The guys in my dormitory didn’t know. I mean, they were angry with me, but they wouldn’t… Neville sat with me at lunch for a bit and… I just wanted some peace,” he finished, lamely.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure that the thing you were searching for in the midst of all this-” he gestured, hoping to convey the mess of the Tournament and whatever the extent of the abuse was. “- was further isolation.”

Harry refused to look up. Seeing that he wouldn’t get any more just now, Severus transfigured a clean handkerchief into a bag and put an expanding charm on the inside. It would hold up for a few hours, which was all that would be necessary. 

“Here,” Severus said, handing over the bag. “We shall be just outside when you are finished. For the record, Mr Potter, if you or your belongings were in danger, I understand your reaction, considering the circumstances; although in future it would be a better solution to approach an adult with such issues.” He did not add that he would be speaking to the Weasley twins as soon as permissible; while it was admirable that they had tried to help the younger boy, they should have been sensible enough to report the cruelty being perpetrated within their own House. 

Potter took the bag wordlessly, still with his head down, but Severus could see the muscles in his neck tense.

Severus swept out of the cold classroom, taking Miss Fawley with him. When the door had swung safely shut he turned to her, taking note of her pallor. “You did well in there.”

She let out a shaky laugh, “Really? I was just falling apart.”

Severus nodded, “I should not have allowed you to remain in the room during that conversation. I apologise.” 

She looked startled more than anything, “Do you think it upset him? My being there, I mean? Obviously he was upset but…”

Severus stared at her, oddly. “You misunderstand. If anything, your presence seemed to have a calming effect on him, especially at the beginning. I doubt he would have opened up even as much as he did if he had been alone with me. I mean to say that it was inappropriate for me to put you in that position.”

She huffed another laugh and Severus remembered why he had recommended her for Head Girl, beyond her impeccable grades.

“That’s okay,” she said. “If he wants me there, I want to stay. I want to help.”

Severus resisted asking for that in writing, to defend himself against rightfully angry parents, “We shall ask him what he would prefer before we recommence the conversation.”

She sobered. “Do you think it’s true?”

Severus sighed, “I see no reason to suspect him to be lying. There is nothing to be gained and all his behaviour seemed to indicate that he was telling the truth. I do want to check whether he is actually with child, as he claims, or whether it is some sort of hysterical reaction.”

“Didn’t seem hysterical to me,” Miss Fawley grumbled at the wording. Honestly, Severus agreed, Potter had been almost calm; it indicated that the boy had had a long time to come to terms with the situation. 

Before Severus could reply, the door opened a fraction and Potter slipped out, clutching the transfigured bag. Severus resisted the urge to sigh again. It should have taken much longer for the boy to be fully packed. He added checking the state of Potter’s belongings, when the child was up to it, to the list; although hopefully it just meant his trunk was still half full.

“Thanks Professor,” Potter mumbled, and Severus did not tell him to speak up – only because he did not want to force yet more conversation with the idiot boy, not because he was being soft with the brat. “It even fit my Firebolt.” 

Adopting his full Professor persona once more Severus sent a gentle sneer in Harry’s direction, “If you are quite ready, I would first like to take you to the Hospital Wing, where you will be required to take a Male Pregnancy Test Potion.”

“I did the charm the book said,” Potter muttered, but followed Severus down the corridor.

Severus looked back at the boy, surprised at the proactive action and wondering where he had found such a book, as Hogwarts didn’t stock any books on male fertility, “That’s as maybe, Potter, but the potion is more accurate. Madam Pomfrey will order you to use one as soon as I have brewed it, so I suggest you get used to the idea.” 

“Professor?” Potter had stopped dead in the middle of the corridor. Severus rounded on him with a billow of robes and a raised eyebrow. Potter gulped, completely white faced. “Could I- do I have to go to the Hospital Wing, right now. Can I... I can wait somewhere until you’ve brewed the potion, if you really think I need to take it, but…”

“Get to the point, Potter,” Severus snapped, seeing that the boy was working himself into a complete tizzy.

Potter consciously lowered his shoulders with a huffed calming breath. He looked Severus right in the eye. “I don’t want them to say I’m lying, sir.”

Severus cocked an eyebrow, pondering on the implication that Potter had tried to tell someone before. He hoped it had not been a member of Hogwarts staff, or else he might be forced to take action… he would, of course take eventual action against anyone who had ignored such abuse, but if they were right in front of him, he might feel less inclined to plan it out for maximum effect, which would be frustrating in the long term. With these thoughts in mind, Severus swirled back round, adjusting his course of action as he went. “Indeed. Very well then, you may wait in my office while I brew the potion. It is slightly trickier than the average gravida concoction, but quite fast, if one is precise.”

He pretended not to hear the relieved sigh. It made sense to follow this course, he mentally justified. The whole point was to keep Potter calm and apparently taking him to the Hospital Wing would not achieve that goal. He was not mollycoddling the child. He could also see if he could get any more of the story before opening the can of worms this would inevitably be when it got out, Severus added, wondering if he could, in good conscience assign Miss Fawley to the task, if he provided tea. 

Before he forgot, Severus asked, “Are you comfortable with Miss Fawley accompanying us, or would you prefer to come alone?” He was only asking for form’s sake. The two teens were walking parallel with each other and Potter was unconsciously leaning towards the older girl.

He heard Potter swallow – a sign of his unsettlement? “No, it’s nice having her here. If that’s okay, I mean. It’s fine if-”

Suddenly, Potter’s answer was cut off. Severus whipped round to see what the problem was, just in time to catch sight of a pale green Harry clap a hand over his mouth, use the other to grab the bag more tightly and leg it back to the boy’s toilets they had just passed.

“Stay,” Severus growled, as he saw Miss Fawley prepare to follow the boy. 

He billowed out his robes to the maximum, bolstering his courage for the scene he was sure was to greet him and, low and behold, upon entering the lavatories he was assaulted with the wafting aroma of vomit and the sound of gagging, amplified to stereo by the acoustics of the tiles. Severus pulled the door firmly shut, blocking Miss Fawley from the experience.

A quick glance found the wretched boy in the third stall – the most direct to enter from the doorway. The stall door was wide open and Severus could see Potter kneeling in front of the toilet, holding himself up on trembling elbows. He hoped the boy would not need manual assistance – though his role as Head of House and the medi-wizard aspect of his apprenticeship meant he certainly had experience with sickness, he rather preferred not to be up close and personal with it. He could not supressed a shudder as a rather loud retch was followed immediately by a clumpy sounding splash.

With a grimace, Severus raised his voice, “Mr Potter?”

“S- sorry, sir,” Potter gasped. 

“Apologies are unnecessary, Potter. I was merely enquiring as to whether you were in need of assistance,” Severus drawled, hoping his disgust at the notion wasn’t evident.

Potter had the gall to let out snort, as he peeled himself off the dingy bathroom floor, “I’m fine Professor. Sorry, I knew it would happen at some point. I’ve been feeling off since dinner.”

“Yes,” Severus observed, as he led the way to the door. “Stress can often have a negative effect on one’s appetite.”

“Yes, sir,” Potter agreed, quite politely, as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve – disgusting. “Partly that, I guess, but it’s mainly that I seem to have worse morning sickness in the evenings… which is easier in some ways, but… That’s why the Gryffindors are so convinced I put my name in, you see.” Potter said, as they made their way back to Miss Fawley. “I was feeling really sick that night, although it had been getting better, so I went to the bathrooms on the seventh floor corridor, rather than the ones in the dormitories. I didn’t want anyone to find me, and… I know it was stupid, but I didn’t want anyone to know and they were getting suspicious…”

They were walking towards the dungeons again, but Severus was now keeping close to the teenagers, in case of a relapse, so he saw as Miss Fawley slipped her hand into Potter’s and squeezed lightly.

“That’s understandable,” Miss Fawley whispered. “I hate having people around when I throw up too.”

Potter gave her a watery smile and swiped as his eyes. Severus could not find it in him to even mentally berate such sentimentality. 

“Anyway,” Potter continued, his voice a bit husky. “The whole common room saw me leave and the boys from my dorm know I didn’t get back for about an hour, so… I guess it wasn’t too wild a leap.”

Severus glowered. Potter should not be defending those insolent wretches. If Slytherins had behaved as abominably as those Lions, the entire school would be up in arms… of course, that would be because his Snakes would have reported such activity immediately and the entire school would have known about it; not two people after two weeks, told practically by accident.

“Wh- If we receive confirmation of your condition, Potter,” he said. “We shall also have complete confirmation of your innocence. The Cup was charmed against accepting entrants with conditions that would prove dangerous for competitors, including pregnancy.”

Potter blushed, presumably at the prospect of vindication, but gnawed on his already raw lip even harder.

“Dangerous?” he questioned in a small voice.

Severus took a deep breath, “To the best of everyone’s abilities, neither you nor your child shall come to any harm,” he promised. “You have my word,” the final part came out quite without Severus’s approval, but as Potter graced them all with a half-smile, he did not find himself too angry with himself. They continued through the creepy deserted castle in silence, all the way to the dungeons. They did not even encounter a ghost along the way, much to Severus’s relief.

When they reached the dungeons, Severus led them to his office. The two teenagers lingered awkwardly by the door, Severus was about to snap at them, until he realised that there was nowhere for them to actually sit that wasn’t in the hard wooden seats at his desk. Understanding the reticence at sitting watching him brew, and knowing that his was a golden opportunity to get the boy to talk, Severus gave a long suffering sigh and transfigured the two chairs into a squashy sofa worthy of Dumbledore, although he kept it a sedate black – he did have some standards after all. 

After levitating the sofa into the corner, far enough away from Severus’s workstation that they hopefully wouldn’t feel observed, and casting a heating charm over it, Severus directed Potter to sit. 

“Try and get him to say something about the abuse,” Severus whispered to Miss Fawley, as she came level. Much as he felt bad about putting this on her shoulders, and was already preparing himself for the deserved reprimand, she was technically an adult and was the only person Potter had seemed to relax around at all. Plus, she might as well have something to do while he brewed.

Miss Fawley nodded and slipped onto the sofa beside Potter.

“Nippy,” Severus summoned again.

The little House Elf appeared, ears flapping, looking expectant.

“More tea for the children, please. Peppermint would be best,” Severus said, thinking to alleviate any lingering nausea the boy might be suffering from. Peppermint always worked for him. He found ginger rather too close to some of the roots used in potions to be particularly soothing. “And the classroom we were in before needs cleaning,” he added as an afterthought.

Nippy nipped off without comment, correctly reading the stress in her charge’s demeanour. She returned just as Severus was lighting the fire under her cauldron, depositing the teapot and cups on a small table and chirruping a greeting to the teenagers, before popping off again.

Seeing that Potter looked a bit nervous at the tea Miss Fawley had served him, Severus decided to speak up, despite his wish for them to forget he was there, “It is perfectly unadulterated, Mr Potter,” Severus murmured, just loud enough to be heard in the acoustics of the dungeon, causing Potter to jump and nearly spill the piping hot fluid all over himself. Wincing, Severus explained, “It might help your nausea. On top of that, I shall require a urine sample to test in the potion, which cannot to be provided if you are dehydrated.”

The fourteen year old – Severus could not get the boy’s age out of his head – blushed right to his hair follicles, but took an obedient gulp, spluttering slightly at the still too hot tea. Miss Fawley laughed softly and whispered something to him that made him grimace in return.

Severus decided to leave them to it and turned back to the potion in front of him. He had summoned his book on rare medicinal potions, which did have the instructions for a male pregnancy test in it, thankfully, as he did not want to waste time searching the library. While the potion was not particularly time consuming, or overly complicated, it was tricky as all the ingredients needed to be prepared fresh, and all had to be added within a twenty minute period – the timings meant that you needed to be a skilled brewer. Including simmering time, the potion should be ready for application in half an hour, and needed to be used within an hour, so Severus hoped that Potter didn’t have a shy bladder.

Trusting that Miss Fawley would be able to handle the boy for now and needing to give his full attention to the fine chopping, shredding and carefully measured drops of carefully harvested juices, Severus sank into the familiar trance of potion preparation, occluding all thoughts of Potters and abusive relatives from his consciousness for the moment.

It was just another potion.

As he added the final pinch of finely ground dragonfly thoraxes and lowered the fire, so that the mixture could simmer softly for eight minutes, Severus returned his attention to his charges. Mis Fawley was practically curled up on the sofa, their shoes abandoned on the floor, while Potter had made sure to keep his feet off the actual upholstery, and was instead sort of hovering them, with his knees wrapped in his arms. Severus supressed a frown for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, assuming from her more relaxed stance, that it had been Miss Fawley’s idea. Evidently they would be having a conversation about personal boundaries at some point.

Keeping one eye on the clock, as he always did when he had something brewing, and double checking the stasis charms on the Blood Replenishing Potion he had been brewing earlier, Severus crept forward, hoping to not interrupt the hushed conversation the teens were engaged in.

“I really think Ron and Hermione were about to come round, you know?” Potter was saying. “Until that bloody Skeeter article came out. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed and… well, I told you what Dudley’s like in public. I swear all I said to her was ‘um’.”

Miss Fawley was nodding so hard Severus was a little worried her neck might be injured.

“My parents won’t let me read her articles. They say she’s just a gossip monger and ambulance chaser of the worst sort.”

Potter huffed, “I wish more people would see that. Merlin, even Fred and George gave me a hard time about all that ‘tears in my eyes’ stuff.”

“Couldn’t you write to the editor and ask for a retraction?” Miss Fawley reasoned.

“Could I?”

“Maybe-”

Severus coughed, to let his presence be known. They both jumped and stumbled to get into a more respectable position. 

“Don’t bother making yourselves uncomfortable on my account,” Severus purred, sending a disapproving glare at Miss Fawley, who had the grace to look slightly ashamed, although nowhere near enough. Potter had slipped his shoes on so smoothly, Severus would have doubted anything had ever been amiss, if he were inclined to disbelieve his own eyes. 

“Sorry, sir,” he muttered.

Miss Fawley frowned, “I just thought it was more comfortable that way,” she said, with her head help high. “Mum always says ‘shoes get in the way of getting to know people’. You have to be so formal when you’re wearing shoes”

“That’s as maybe, Miss Fawley,” Severus admonished. “But it is also cold down here, hence the necessity for footwear, and is also my office, which demands a level of respect, namely feet off the furniture.”

Judging from the look on her face and its similarity to other such faces she had pulled over the years, Severus was fairly sure she would stick her tongue out at him as soon as his back was turned. This point was proven when Severus turned, under the guise of collecting another chair (they should have known he could just summon it) and Potter gave an undignified snort, although they had both righted themselves by the time Severus was back from his leisurely task. Potter also went back to examining the floor as soon as Severus had situated himself in his high back wooden chair.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Severus unwilling to push Potter for information until the potion had been completed, the teens unwilling to continue their conversation in front of the professor.

“Professor?” Severus looked up with a raised eyebrow, surprised that it was Potter that had broken the monotony of silence. “Did you need me to… give a sample?” the boy could only have been a deeper red if Severus had painted him.

A quick glance at the clock told him that the potion required another ninety seconds of simmering. He got up and glided back to his brewing station, quickly located the small supply of specimen cups he had ‘acquired’ from the infirmary when Poppy’s back was turned, and beckoned Potter over, not wanting to leave the nearly complete potion. Any more than three seconds over and the entire concoction would be useless.

Not taking his eyes off the clock – partly to keep track of progress and partly out of a strange desire not to add to the boy’s humiliation – Severus handed over the container. 

“It is only necessary to fill it to about half way. The outside of the cup is self-cleaning, so don’t worry about any… spillages,” Severus could not withhold his smirk as he could practically feel see tendrils of heat from the boy’s face at that statement. Slightly more gently, he said, “You have up to half an hour for the potion to be activated, so take your time.”

Potter took the cup with a slight nod and scurried into the bathroom at the back of the office. Severus watched him close the door and then checked the wards to make sure he would be informed if Potter somehow managed to get himself in any trouble. Apart from that, the room was soundproof on both sides. 

Severus turned back to Miss Fawley, who was still on the sofa and now that Potter was out of the room, was looking watery eyed again. Severus went back to his chair and faced her.

“Did he say anything?”

Miss Fawley nodded, swallowing.

Severus sighed, “Did you promise secrecy?” it really would be easier the more information they had, but he understood that it was more important Potter talk to someone he trusted.

“No,” she whispered, coughing to clear her throat. “Sorry… no, I said I would talk to you if he would let me, and he said that would probably be better.”

“Impressive,” Severus drawled, trying to cover his surprise that the boy had been so reasonable.

“He’s nice, if you actually talk to him,” she mused.

Severus hummed. As far as was possible, he was trying to see the boy as any other student with problems at home, but his irrational mind kept oscillating between seeing him as Lily’s boy, who he had failed so horribly, and the spitting image of his father, who most likely was working some sort of angle. Neither emotion was helpful, so impassivity was the best anyone could ask for.

“It’s strange, I’ve heard so many people talk about the Boy Who Lived, but not many actually talking about Harry,” Miss Fawley suddenly supplied.

Severus swallowed. That was it, wasn’t it? Harry. Not Potter, or the Boy Who Lived, or any of the other ridiculous epithets that had been assigned to him. Not even Lily’s son. The boy currently in his bathroom; waiting to take a test that would prove irrevocably that his life would never be the same again; about to embark on a competition designed for and against students many years his senior, which he clearly didn’t enter himself; currently ostracized by all his peers and so alienated from adults that he would rather live in a broom-cupboard than ask for help, was just Harry.

Severus coughed, suddenly finding his throat a bit constricted. “Did he say anything useful?”

Miss Fawley examined her fingernails for a moment, “He wouldn’t talk about what his uncle did. Whenever I tried to bring it up, he just started chugging the tea.”

Severus nodded, “Did he mention anything else about his treatment there? He said they hated him, so I assume it wasn’t just his uncle.” 

“The only thing he did say about…” she gestured at the bathroom door. “-was that he didn’t think his Aunt knew. Apparently she would always give him chores and stuff, but – and I’m quoting here – ‘always tried to miss with the frying pan and snuck him food when Uncle Vernon was at work, so she wasn’t too bad’.”

Severus’s fist tightened of its own accord. Why had he believed Dumbledore when he said that the Blood Wards proved the Petunia had got over her jealousy of her sister? Yes, she probably hadn’t known about the rape – even she wouldn’t sink so low – but of course she would allow neglect and… physical abuse. That the boy found having a frying pan aimed at him normal…

Miss Fawley continued, “He was fine talking about some things. Things he thought you lot already knew,” her voice was accusing, as was the look in her eyes, which were now trained directly on Severus’s. For a second, he wondered if she had ever received any legilimency training.

“You lot?” he asked, for clarification.

“The staff at Hogwarts,” she bit out. “Apparently his letter was addressed to the ‘Cupboard under the Stairs’, which was when he was moved into his cousin’s second bedroom.”

Severus got up so suddenly his chair clattered to the ground and he billowed round to face the bathroom door, staring at it as if trying to discern the figure within.

“Cupboard?” he choked.

Miss Fawley’s voice was tired, “Yeah. And it’s a four bedroom house, apparently. At least now we know why he didn’t mind sleeping in that broom-cupboard. Apparently it’s quite a bit larger than the one he’s used to.”

Severus scrubbed a hand across his face, as if to wipe away the discombobulation. He needed to remain calm. In just another ten minutes he would need to speak to the boy about hurrying up and the last thing he would want was half-baked pity – Severus knew that. 

With his mask firmly back in place, Severus swung back round and righted his toppled chair. “The letters are addressed by an enchanted quill. As far as I know, they are only checked when there is a delay in the process, or when multiples have to be sent.”

“By which time, he would have been moved,” Miss Fawley finished, seemingly placated.

Severus took a deep breath, not liking the fact that he would have to implicate Minerva McGonagall in all this –he now counted the woman as almost a friend, and she still terrified him. “While I have no reason to suspect that anyone here knew, I will check with the parties concerned.”

Miss Fawley smiled widely at him, as if he was doing her a favour.

“He was locked in?” Severus asked. It was the logical conclusion to putting a child in a cupboard. His own father had only done it a couple of times, but those occasions stood out.

Her face fell again, “Yeah. He just called them his punishment periods. No food, although, like I said, his aunt would sneak him stuff. Sometimes let out for chores if people were coming over, but most of the time stayed in there. They… he said most of the time they at least let him out morning and night for… you know.”

Severus grimaced, “Most of the time?”

Miss Fawley’s nose curled, “That’s what he said,” she swallowed.

Severus closed his eyes against the anger that assaulted him. Logical, Severus, Logical, he chanted in his head. “I will make sure he is checked for kidney damage,” he eventually bit out. “Was there anything else? He mentioned a Dudley?”

Miss Fawley giggled, although it was tinged with sadness, “That’s his cousin… the one with two bedrooms. Harry says he's like a pig in a wig, but without the charm. They… he’s encouraged to beat up on Harry. Harry Hunting, he said it was called. The teachers at his primary school apparently knew what his cousin was like, but were friends with his Aunt so…”

They were silent for a few seconds; she having no more to say and him not knowing what to say.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Miss Fawley said in a thin voice, “He’s never even been to the cinema.” 

Severus often said it was best at least one of the Head Boy or Head Girl slots be filled by a muggle born or half blood, as they would understand these things and the inferences. Before Severus could respond, the door to the bathroom opened, and a pale Potter emerged.

“I’m… uh…”

“Eloquent, as always, Mr Potter,” Severus drawled, occluding as hard as possible. The potion needed to be used in the next eleven minutes to be effective, and really the sooner the better. He glided over and took the sample from the boy’s balled fist, being sure not to look at it, since there was no need to cause the child more distress until the results were definitively known.

“Sorry it took so long,” Potter mutter, with an expression on his face that any other day Severus would have labelled as sullen… defensive? Embarrassed?

Severus waved the apology aside, “That is unnecessary. Given the circumstances, it is understandable.”

In one fell motion, Severus glided to his workstation and scooped the correct portion of potion into one of his high end testing jars, where the results would be recorded onto the jar as soon as it was finished. These jars were expensive and wasteful, as they could only be used once, and the only reason Severus had them in his lab was that Dumbledore had ignored his views on them and bought them as a Christmas present. As much as Severus abhorred the notion of gift giving and such sentimentality, he could not, in good conscience throw them away. Now, they would come in useful – the results would be recognised as valid by all manner of authorities (the manufacturers were among the most well respected in Europe) and would be corroborated long after the sample discarded, hopefully discounting the need for Potter to be put through multiple tests. 

With exactly the right amount of potion in the jar, Severus tipped in approximately a tablespoon’s worth of Potter’s sample. They now just had to wait for the potion to react and the results given.

They held their breathe.

A minute later, a pale glow surrounded the jar. When it had dissipated, Severus picked it up and read the results, although he really didn’t need to, as the potion had turned from a murky green to clear blue.

Harry Potter  
Male Pregnancy Test  
14th November 1994  
Results: Positive. 13 Weeks 3 Days

Well, that answers that, Severus thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Update 14th September. Please Read and Review.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Descriptions of abuse and rape of a minor

Harry was curled up on his usual bed in the Hospital Wing, focussing on a small beetle crawling around on the windowsill, and grateful that Lyra was still holding his hand. The Slytherin hadn’t let go since they had got the official results from the test. Harry didn’t know whether he felt relieved or even more frightened since the potion had spat out its results. Logically, he knew it didn’t really make any difference – he’d known since before he had used the spell from the book he had picked up in Diagon Alley before third year, The Bearer’s Lot, since before the Goblet had even entered the school, but somehow having it confirmed in front of Snape and Lyra made him feel like he had been punched in the chest all over again.

Lyra must have seen the look on his face, as she gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

“Do you want any more of that tea? You look a bit pale,” Lyra asked. They had been left alone for a few minutes now, while Snape told Madam Pomfrey what was going on and went to floo Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore. 

Harry shook his head. He didn’t feel sick exactly, just shaky, as if a large portion of his life was about to come tumbling down around his ears. The thought of properly telling made his stomach swoop. It had been inculcated into his psyche further back than he could remember that he was not to talk about what went on at Privet Drive. Good people did not talk about what went on in the privacy of their own homes and as much as Harry had known he wasn’t a good boy, it hadn’t stopped him trying to please his Aunt and Uncle. 

When he had tried to tell someone, it turned out that Aunt Petunia had told his teachers exactly what a freak he was and they just knew he was lying. After that Harry had been too embarrassed to tell anyone what happened. All the teachers at school had kept making snide comments about his mendacity and low morals, and while the other kids hadn't known what they meant, it had proved that no one was going to stand up for Harry, making him a free target at school as well as home. He learnt how to keep even more to himself. Harry made it a game sometimes – how long could he go without talking before someone noticed? His record was sixteen days. 

Now he was going to have to tell everything and just hope that it would be different this time. It made his insides feel as if he was flying, but wasn’t in full control of the broom: kind of like those dives where he sometimes wondered if he was going to bother pulling out in time.

He wondered if Dumbledore would tell Sirius. Or if he would have to tell Sirius. He had managed to put off talking to his godfather, but there was no way he was going to be able to keep this a secret… from anyone. Robes only hid so much.

Harry gulped.

Before he could get too worked up, however, McGonagall and Dumbledore marched in through the Hospital Wing doors, at the same time as Snape and Madam Pomfrey came out of her office. They all converged on Harry’s bed.

Before any of them could speak, Snape held up his hand, “I have contacted the DMLE and let them know we have a case of child abuse and sexual assault. They are sending a representative, as well as someone from the WCS.”

“Huh?” Harry whispered to Lyra.

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Wizarding Children’s Services,” Lyra clarified.

“Is that really necessary, Severus,” Dumbledore asked, apparently forgetting that there were two students present. Snape bristled at the informality. “I had hoped to keep this internal… for Harry’s sake.” That did sound better to Harry. He looked hopefully to Snape.

“I assure you, my actions are for Potter’s sake,” Snape snapped. “The more formal this is the better in the long run. I refuse to discuss anything further until they arrive and I suggest Mr Potter and Miss Fawley adhere to the same behaviour.” He levelled them both with one of his more terrifying glares – Harry would rate it as a seven out of ten.

“But if we can avoid publicity,” Dumbledore insisted, his voice a lot more forceful that Harry had ever heard it. He noticed that Dumbledore refused to look at him, which he sort of resented, but at the same time preferred to McGonagall’s worried glances.

“For goodness sake, Albus,” Snape yelled. “The boy is pregnant! How exactly are you planning on hiding that from the public, in the middle of this blasted competition, on top of the fact that the Prophet has been itching to get an exclusive on the boy since he first started here. This is going to come out one way or another, and we need to ensure it is handled in such a way as to minimise the discomfiture for the boy, not ease your lot in life.”

Harry’s mouth hung open at that tirade. As much as he had no desire to hear his situation and the humiliation that was bound to come with it spelled out like that, he had never been defended like that before… certainly not by an adult… and to the Headmaster no less. He didn’t think even Ron or Hermione would have jumped to his defence so vociferously. 

Dumbledore’s eyes had definitely lost their twinkle after that – maybe that was something even akin to guilt – but he still held his head high. “Are we even sure if…”

As the Headmaster started speaking, Harry’s stomach sank through the floor and he wished he had agreed to have some more of that tea. It was the same old same old. Whichever end to that sentence it was, he was a liar and an attention seeking git, just like everybody kept insisting. 

‘Are we sure if he really is pregnant?’ – another ploy for attention. ‘Are we sure it really was rape?’ – he’s probably just covering up for being a slut. He swallowed back bile and Lyra tugged on his hand, her eyes wide with worry. ‘Are we sure if he was abused at all?’ – the Dursleys were a good family and he was just a burden and a freak. He was lucky just to have been taken in. He had no right to ask for kindness. All the reasons he had ever had for not speaking out, all the ways he himself had seen the situation in the past, came crashing down on him. 

It was the cold fury in Snape’s voice that made him look up. The Potion’s Master was holding his specimen jar out as if it were a weapon. The tips of his hair were quivering with rage, but his hand was dead still.

“The child is pregnant, Albus,” Snape said. “He says it was his Uncle and I believe him.” Harry felt tears fill his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, but again stopped them from falling. No one had ever actually said that. McGonagall had collapsed into a chair by now and Madam Pomfrey was plying her with water. Dumbledore was deathly still. “He is fourteen and alone. What reason does he have for lying, Albus? And please bear in mind, that that is what you are accusing him of.”

Dumbledore finally turned past Snape, to see Harry huddled on the cold bed. Somehow, Harry managed to maintain eye contact with the venerable Headmaster and hoped he saw some of the betrayal coursing through Harry’s shaking body.

Before the conversation could get more out of control, the floo in Madam Pomfrey’s office flared and two seconds later two professional looking women stepped into the Wing, one with a real honest to goodness monocle on! The other had a calf-length floaty cardigan-like robe, reminiscent of Trelawney, although the fact that she only had one on and it was in a muted grey and lavender flower pattern stopped any further comparison.

“Madam Bones,” Madam Pomfrey cried. “Thank goodness.” She bustled off to appraise the new arrivals of the pertinent details. 

The rest of the teachers moved away from his bed. Harry assumed that one of them must have thrown up some sort of privacy ward, as he couldn’t hear anything except a low buzz. He could tell, however, that Snape did not seem happy, based on the rather flailing gestures aimed in Dumbledore’s direction. McGongall wasn’t doing much more than nod, but seemed equally irate with the Headmaster. 

“Who are they?” Harry asked Lyra. He hated that all this was about him and yet no one had actually said anything to him about what was going on.

“The one with the monocle is Madam Bones, head of Magical Law Enforcement. I’ve seen her picture in the Prophet. Mum’s obsessed with her,” Lyra whispered back, slightly awed. “I knew they took child abuse seriously, but this is really incredible, although if they mentioned your name, it makes sense – no offense. No one will be able to argue validity if Madam Bones is taking the case. She’s second only to Fudge and most people think she’s much better than that oaf.” 

Harry wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful that one of the most senior members of the Ministry handling this, but at least they were taking it seriously. “Bones, like Susan Bones?” he asked. He imagined he would see a slight resemblance to the blonde Hufflepuff, if he tilted his head and squinted. 

“That’s the Hufflepuff in your year, isn’t it? I think she’s her niece or something,” Lyra mused, still openly staring at the monocled lady.

“What about the other one?” Harry asked.

“The WCS rep, I expect,” Lyra said, not nearly as interested. 

The Ministry witches came over to the bed, while Madam Pomfrey went over to knock some sense into the bickering Professors.

“Hello Harry,” the WCS witch said. “I’m Cressida Abbott. You can call me Cress, or Mrs Abbott, whichever you’re more comfortable with.” She smiled, but didn’t seem condescending.

“Thanks, Mrs Abbott,” Harry said, not at all comfortable with calling a strange adult by their first name. “Are you related to Hannah?” that’s who she reminded him of.

She smiled wider, “She’s my daughter. You and she have Herbology together, she said.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, embarrassed that Hannah had been talking about him. He had never really had any interactions with her daughter, unless you count accusations in Second Year… and her flashing her ‘Potter Stinks’ badge at him.

Mrs Abbott didn’t seem too concerned by his silence and turned to Madam Bones, who also introduced herself (he had the option of calling her Amelia, which had Lyra hyperventilating) and confirmed herself as Susan’s Aunt.

Before Harry had to try and make small talk, or worse, be asked to actually talk, Madam Pomfrey dragged over the Professors. The medi-witch said a quick incantation over Harry and after a nod and a wand flourish, a long scroll of parchment popped into existence in her hands. She replicated the document three times, keeping the original for herself and handing the copies to Professor Snape, Madam Bones and Mrs Abbott. Snape immediately allowed McGonagall to share his copy, but a slight angling of his body blocked Dumbledore from the details. Harry smirked – who knew Snape had it in him to be (so overtly) childish.

Not seeming too put-out by his employee’s subordination, Dumbledore bowed to the two Ministry witches and after a polite exchange of pleasantries, conjured five squashy, bright purple armchairs around the bed. Snape scowled, but apart from changing the upholstery of his chair to black, did not complain. 

With all the assembled people in the low comfortable seats, Harry couldn’t help feel like he was on a stage somehow. Like that tele-play he had glimpsed as he cleaned the living room once. It was one of those horror films Dudley occasionally persuaded Aunt Petunia to let him watch and in this one someone had been being dissected alive, or tortured, or something, while an audience watched on, drinking and eating and chatting… Harry hadn’t seen much, but there had been a lot of screaming. Dudley had been glued to it, eating a large bowl of ice cream that Harry had brought for him. Harry didn’t think he had ever cleaned the living room so quickly, although Aunt Petunia did make him do the whole thing again when he went in to scrub up Dudley’s ice cream stains. 

Harry dragged himself back to the present when Mrs Abbott cleared her throat. 

“Harry,” she started, her voice perfectly measured. “I’m sorry, but we are going to have to talk about the abuse you have suffered. Has anyone explained to you what is going on?”

Harry shook his head, “They might have done, but I was slightly out of it earlier.”

Mrs Abbott smiled, “Understandable,” she said. “Well, first of all, Madam Bones here will be recording this meeting so we can go back to anything at a later date. Is that all right with you?”

It wasn’t all right with Harry, but he didn’t want them to ignore him… again. He gave them a stiff nod, not trusting his voice. Lyra gave his hand yet another reassuring squeeze, anchoring him.

“When Professor Snape brought you to the Hospital Wing he told Madam Pomfrey that he had reason to seriously suspect that you were the victim of abuse. This and the test he performed earlier, with your permission-” Mrs Abbott paused and looked at Harry expectantly; after a second, he nodded, which seemed to be what she wanted. “With the test, Madam Pomfrey had grounds to perform a deep diagnostic scan charm on you, which she set up when you first came in. This charm gives a full medical history of the person it is performed upon.”

“Apart from Mr Potter’s arm,” Madam Pomfrey interjected. “He lost the bones in his right arm in his second year after that buffoon Lockhart tried to heal his broken arm. I had to regrow them.”

All those who had known Lockhart rolled their eyes.

“Yes, well, as I was saying, this-” she held up the parchment, which was covered in writing and diagrams so neat and tiny they rivalled Hermione’s. “-this is as comprehensive a medical history as it is possible to obtain for you. Did you ever go to a muggle doctor?” she asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Harry shook his head, non-plussed at the non-sequitur, “No ma’am.” The Dursleys didn’t want to face the possibility of anyone finding out about his freakishness.

“Injections? Illnesses? Eye exam?”

“Oh!” Harry suddenly remembered. “I had an eye exam once. The school nurse insisted.”

“I’ll schedule an appointment with an occulist,” Madam Pomfrey tutted, as she made a note of it. “One eye exam, honestly… How do you find your glasses, Mr Potter?”

His glasses? “They’re- they’re fine. I mean, I try and sit quite near the front, because I get a headache if I go too far back, but they work and everything. I mean, I can see the snitch!” His joke fell flat.

Snape shifted around. Harry remembered that the only class he where he consistently sat at the back was potions. He had learnt his lesson after the first one.

Choosing to ignore Snape, he focussed back on Mrs Abbott. “A healer specialising in cases of child abuse will be seeing you at some point this week and will likely use some Muggle exam methods. You’ve never been examined by a doctor?”

“Just Madam Pomfrey.”

Mrs Abbott nodded, “Okay Harry. Now, we are going to need to talk about what is written on this sheet at some point, as well as the information Miss Fawley passed on to Professor Snape pertaining to your living conditions,” she paused again, most likely checking to make sure Harry knew about this. Harry gave a tight smile to Lyra – he had wanted her to tell Snape, it was far more preferable as far as he was concerned that she checked the waters. “But we also need to talk about your pregnancy and how it came to be. You have already told the Professor that your Uncle is responsible and Madam Bones will be contacting the Aurors as soon as this meeting is completed to have him arrested, but it would help if you told us what you can about the abuse. Can you do that?”

Harry’s throat was coated in a sour gunk as soon as he heard that and he coughed to try and dislodge it, simultaneously swallowing thickly to try and stop it coming all the way up. Lyra passed him a glass of water.

“Thank you, Miss Fawley,” Mrs Abbott said. “Harry, I don’t want to push you. Which would you be more comfortable starting with?”

Harry thought for a minute. Whichever one he chose would be horrid. “The parchment,” he eventually answered, wishing his mouth would work well enough to be a bit more articulate in front of the Ministry witches. At least with the parchment it would specific questions, rather than him having to think about what on earth he was going to say. 

Mrs Abbott nodded. Harry could see the others shuffling around out of the corner of his eye, but he found it much easier to deal with if he pretended he didn’t have an audience and kept his attention fixed on the kind social worker. 

Mrs Abbott cleared her throat, “I am quite surprised you said you had never been to the doctor, Harry. According to this, you have suffered from several broken bones over the years.”

“Really?” Harry asked. He had suspected it occasionally, but the only time a broken bone had ever been confirmed was in second year.

“Yes, apparently they have all healed quite nicely and very quickly, but could you perhaps explain?” there was no accusation in her voice, just curiosity.

“Um, well,” Harry shrugged. “I dunno really. I- Dudley used to like beating me up. He calls it Harry Hunting,” everyone winced. “He doesn’t- I mean, he hasn’t, really, since Hogwarts. But, that’s probably a lot of it.”

“Dudley?” 

“My cousin.” 

“I see,” Mrs Abbott said. “And how old is Dudley?”

“He’s a couple of months older than me,” Harry said, not sure how that was relevant.

“A child the same age as you, from the age of three, has given you two fractured ribs, a broken leg, a fractured clavicle and, broken your nose nine times, broken your finger six times and fractured your left arm?” still her voice was level.

“He’s a lot bigger than me,” he said lamely. “And he’s pushed me down the stairs a few times.” Honestly, he knew Dudley hurt him sometimes, but he hadn’t realised he’d done that much damage. It was over a long time, though.

“Okay,” Mrs Abbott said, although Harry wasn’t sure she actually believed him. “Harry, did your Aunt or Uncle ever hit you?”

“Not really,” Harry drew the phrase out. They didn’t exactly hit.

“Excuse me, Mrs Abbott,” Snape interjected. “I don’t mean to interfere, but Mr Potter told Miss Fawley that – and I quote – ‘his Aunt always tried to miss with the frying pan’, implying, if you don’t mind me extrapolating, that the frying pan was at least aimed towards his personage.” Snape’s eyes were trained on Harry’s squirming form.

“Is this true, Miss Fawley?” Mrs Abbott asked.

Lyra looked pained for a second, not liking to go against Harry, “Yes, that’s what he told me. He didn’t seem to think it was a big deal, though, so might not count it.”

Harry was just surprised by how seriously they were taking that, “That’s just a threat she makes. She’s only caught me with it a couple of times. It was never serious.”

Madam Bones scribbled down a note.

“Well, that explains the concussions,” Madam Pomfrey muttered.

“Okay, Harry, I’ll be more specific, although this will be easier in the long term if you tell us as much as possible now,” Harry blushed at the reproof. It wasn’t like he was lying to them; he just honestly didn’t count what his Aunt did as hitting. It wasn’t as if she tried to properly hurt him and whenever she did hit she always made him put a cold compress on his head.

Mrs Abbott continued, “Before we get onto that, was your cousin punished for hitting you?”

“Dudley? No!” Harry almost laughed. “The school made us stand at opposite ends of the playground sometimes, which was all right by me. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are fine with whatever he does. Sometimes Uncle Vernon would tell him what to do,” Harry’s face fell at that and he subconsciously rubbed his thigh. That bloody Smeltings stick was a menace.

Madam Bones was scribbling again.

Mrs Abbott was nodding thoughtfully, with her eyebrows more than a bit scrunched together. “Did you Aunt and Uncle ever physically hurt you, even if they didn’t hit you?”

That one was easier, “Uncle Vernon liked to throw me around, but it was never like a beating or anything. It was mainly throwing and threats.”

“What do you mean, ‘he threw you around’?” 

Harry frowned. They really wanted it spelling out, didn’t they? He hoped they wouldn’t want a blow by blow account of the rest of it. 

Mrs Abbott seemed to sense his discomfort, “I really am sorry to have to ask, Harry, but do you mean he would push you in the direction he wanted you to go?”

“He would get hold of me,” Harry demonstrated by grabbing the back of his robe and pulling up, letting go of Lyra’s hand as he did so. “And throw me. Most of the time it was just into my cupboard… room now. Sometimes, when he was angry it was into the wall and stuff. I guess I hit my head a couple of times then, too. It didn’t happen often… too much effort. I think he always wanted to hit me, but only did it once. I think the black eye scared him.” his voice trailed off and he winced. This really wasn’t easy. What were you expecting? a snide little voice in the back of his head chimed. He ignored it. He also had to ignore how the professor’s copy of the exam results was shaking in Professor McGonagall’s grip. 

“I see,” Mrs Abbott said, but she didn’t press any more. “Did your relatives know when you were injured?”

“I guess. I mean, I bruised and stuff. And they didn’t like it when I whined.”

“What did they do when you were injured, if they didn’t wish to take you to the doctor?” her lips were definitely tight now.

“They put me in my cupboard until I stopped whining. I was always better within a couple of days.”

“A couple of days?” Madam Pomfrey gasped. “Mr Potter, you healed yourself of these injuries?”

Harry stared at her wide eyed. All he could do was shrug. He guessed, but…

“That must have taken up an awesome amount of magic,” the medi-witch was now saying, mostly to herself. “There’s organ damage recorded… but everything seems to be healed…” she sounded thoroughly baffled. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Harry asked, confused, as he looked between his Professors and the Ministry witches.

“It’s a very good thing, Harry,” Mrs Abbott assured.

“Then why-?”

“It is uncommon for magic, especially untrained, immature magic to behave in such a way,” Snape said, switching to his teaching voice and regarding Harry down his nose, like a lab specimen. “While our magic will endeavour to minimise or prevent damage, it does not generally heal to the extent your magic has clearly been healing you over the years. Cumulatively I would say, without magical intervention, you would have suffered permanent damage by now. It leads to some questions of your magic’s development, especially since…” he trailed off, but Harry could fill in the gap – ‘especially since you’re so useless at everything else’. He blushed.

“When I get in touch with St Mungo’s for the Male Pregnancy specialist, I’ll see about a core analyst coming as well,” Madam Pomfrey asserted.

Harry shivered at the thought of all these people coming to stare at him. So, it turns out he’s a freak in the Wizarding World as well, not that that was exactly news.

“And these injuries started just before you turned three, Mr Potter,” Madam Bones asked.

Again Harry had to shrug. He didn’t really remember when it all started.

“About the same time as more overt accidental magic commences,” Snape murmured. 

“Quite,” Madam Bones agreed.

“His bones must have been brittle from the malnutrition. They shouldn’t have been broken by another toddler, even if he was larger,” Madam Pomfrey was muttering to herself.

Mrs Abbott pressed on, despite her colleagues’ rambling. “When you say you were put in your cupboard…”

“The cupboard under the stairs. It was my bedroom,” Harry shook his head, hoping that would help clear it a bit. “I’m sorry, but don’t you already know this? That was where my Hogwarts letter was addressed.”

Professor McGonagall hiccupped, but when she spoke her voice was quite steady, if a bit more husky than usual. “The letters are addressed by a charmed quill from the admissions book. Beyond checking the names on the list I don’t… there has never seemed any reason to…”

“That’s quite all right, Minerva,” Madam Bones shushed. “You followed protocol.”

“Well clearly the protocol will have to be changed,” Professor McGonagall cried. Harry and Lyra glanced at each other, unsure what to do as the austere Deputy Headmistress fell apart. “I’m sorry,” she said and quickly got up and walked out of the door. Madam Pomfrey followed her but came back a second later.

“She just needs a minute. We can carry on.”

“So, your… cupboard, Harry,” Mrs Abbott carried on, albeit slightly flustered. 

Harry shifted around on the bed, “Yeah.”

“You slept there?”

“Yeah, and the Dursleys would lock me in whenever they didn’t need me.”

“What do you mean, didn’t need you?”

“When I wasn’t doing the chores. They didn’t want me around when they were being a family. I didn’t want to be around them, either, so it was okay,” Harry looked at his hands  
twisted in his lap. Even though he was under no illusions as to his standing at the Dursleys, it still hurt to say.

“Could you describe an average day for us?”

Harry took a deep breath, “Well, Aunt Petunia would unlock me and get me up to make breakfast at seven.”

“Did you eat breakfast?”

“Um… not if I was on punishment.”

The adults exchanged looks again and Mrs Abbott made a note, but no one said anything.

Harry pressed on, “Then, if it was a school day, Dudley and I would get dropped off at school. Aunt Petunia would pick us up and then when we got home I was given a list of chores. Usually it was just cleaning up a bit, or gardening. She sometimes had me cook dinner, if she wasn’t in the mood. She really only likes doing fancy things… although I’m a better baker,” he couldn’t help but add. “After dinner I do the washing up; then I was allowed in the bathroom for five minutes if I was on punishment, ten if not. Then I was put in my cupboard. It wasn’t too bad. I don’t like being with them anyway and at least I could hear the TV. Or, I could steal books from Dudley – he never noticed those missing – but Uncle Vernon would sometimes steal my light bulb if he decided I was costing too much to keep.”

At this statement Dumbledore choked, “The Dursleys are paid a stipend every month from the Potter’s vault, according to their will. The records should be held at the Ministry and Gringotts.”

Madam Bones scribbled down another note, “I’ll look into it.”

“Hang on!” Harry shouted. He’d finally had enough and found himself jumping to the floor. “Are you saying the Dursleys got money for keeping me!?”

“Mr Potter-” Snape warned.

“Those… those,” Harry didn’t have words. All those years telling him he was lucky to live there. That clothes were expensive. That he was taking the food from Dudley’s mouth. And all along Dudley’s fat gob was being fed with Harry’s own money, while Harry lived off scraps of bread in a bloody cupboard! He felt like a half blown up balloon. He just didn’t have the energy to deal with this…

“Mr Potter,” Madam Bones said, laying a hand on his arm. Harry flinched and she pulled away, but he let Lyra gently take his hand again and guide him back to sitting on the bed. “I understand that you are upset and rightly so, but we need to talk to you before any justice can be done. Can you remain calm for us?”

Feeling like a chastised child, Harry nodded at his lap and swung his legs back onto the bed, but kept his grip on Lyra’s hand.

After a second, Mrs Abbott decided the best thing to do was to move on, “Were you given any dinner?”

“Not during punishment,” it was rote. The only difference was who he was saying it to. He still remembered Aunt Petunia saying it like a chant whenever he asked for something when he was younger. It was nearly as frequent as ‘don’t ask questions’. They would taunt him with it. Just as he thought he might faint from hunger, ‘You want some potatoes, boy?’ ‘Not during punishment, sir’.

“What about when you weren’t being punished, Harry?”

Harry shrugged, “Depended how they were feeling. Sometimes they let me eat with them at table, other times they said freaks weren’t allowed and I had to watch. I got leftovers then,” Vegetables. Nothing else was left. It was a good thing Harry liked broccoli. Maybe that was why he was craving vegetables so much now.

“What about when they locked you in your cupboard?” Mrs Abbott pressed on.

Harry shook his head, “No. If it went on for too long, Aunt Petunia would sneak me a bit of food, or leave my door unlocked for the night, but I had to be careful not to eat too much. If Uncle Vernon saw… I-” he didn’t want to say this, but it did paint a picture.

“Yes,” Mrs Abbott pressed, seeing the grimace.

“Dudley came down for a glass of water once and saw me eating some fat out of the bin. After that they always put some washing up liquid on top. I know it was disgusting but-”

“We’re not judging you, Harry,” Harry bit his lip as he looked at her sincere face. Lyra’s hand tightened around his. “We understand.” 

They waited a minute while Harry pulled himself together. He shoved his fists into his tired eyes, trying to stop them prickling. It must have been nearly midnight. Professor McGonagall slipped back in, her eyes slightly red.

“Are you ready to continue?” Harry nodded. 

He coughed and tried to keep his voice even, “Anyway, Uncle Vernon slapped me that time and gave me another week without food… the problem was it was the school holidays, so I didn’t get school lunches or anything either, which usually tide me over. Aunt Petunia couldn’t get me any food that week…”

Seeming to sense his distress, and wanting to distract from her muttering colleagues, Mrs Abbott changed the subject. “What happened when it wasn’t a school day?”

“Chores. Lots of chores.” It had been never ending.

“What sort of chores?” 

Harry sighed, “Cooking, cleaning the house, gardening, household maintenance, I guess – painting and stuff – doing the laundry, doing Dudley’s homework for him to copy out-”

“Excuse me?” Snape looked confused.

“Dudley didn’t like doing his homework, so I had to do it for him, so all he had to do was copy it out, that way at least his answers were right and Aunt Petunia could just say he learnt better at home.”

“What about you?” Mrs Abbott asked.

Harry kept his eyes trained on Snape, “I did it afterwards and made sure to get answers wrong. They didn’t like it when I did better than Dudley at school, so I made sure not to try too hard in class. The teachers didn’t like me anyway, so… it’s not like they cared or anything…”

Harry could have sworn Snape looked guilty for a second.

“So yeah, stuff like that,” he finished. 

“Did this continue after you started Hogwarts? You said earlier that you were moved rooms when you received your letter?” 

Professor McGonagall made a small strangled noise.

“Yeah,” Harry rubbed his nose again. “Yeah I was. They thought someone was watching the house. I got to clean out Dudley’s second bedroom and moved in. I’m still there.”

“Second bedroom,” Madam Bones asked, aghast.

“For his broken toys and stuff,” Harry smirked. “I sometimes nicked toys and books from there when I was cleaning. Only small stuff. Dudley checked and if he thought anything was missing Uncle Vernon would search my room.” Harry frowned. Some of those times had been painful.

Madam Bones gritted her teeth so hard her jaw clicked, but nobody said anything else.

“Do you still do chores?” Mrs Abbott pressed.

“Um… a bit, not as much,” Harry admitted. 

“Well… that sounds like an improvement,” Mrs Abbot said, not seeming to believe it.

Harry shrugged. He didn’t really mind the chores. They gave him something to do.

“I’m not going to make you describe every injury mentioned here, Harry,” Mrs Abbott motioned to the foul parchment and smiled. “I’m so sorry, sweetie, I know it’s late. You look dead on your feet.”

Harry smiled weakly. He was absolutely knackered after all this. He had heard of emotional exhaustion before, but didn’t think it meant literal exhaustion. Merlin knew how he was going to get through his classes tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I promise we’re nearly at the end. Is there anything that would make you feel better? Some biscuits, or-”

There was no way he could stomach that, but, “Could I please have some more tea?” he looked at Snape, who curled his lip in… was that supposed to be some sort of smile?

“Nippy?”

Pop.

“A pot of peppermint tea for Mr Potter.”

Nippy gazed around wide eyed at the assembled witches and wizards, her ears flapping expressively, before bowing and popping out again.

“A mug would do,” Harry mumbled.

Before Snape could answer, Nippy popped back in to hand Harry a mug. Harry was so busy breathing in the heavenly fumes of the soothing beverage that he completely missed  
Nippy pop out, or any retort Snape might have made. 

After wallowing in small sips of tea for as long as he dared try everyone’s patience, Harry raised his head to face the final battle. They had talked about his injuries, and how the Dursleys treated him. There was only one thing left.

“Harry,” Mrs Abbott said. “I need to ask you about your pregnancy and more importantly the circumstances that led to it.”

Harry tensed. He had been waiting for this. For years he had wanted to scream from the rooftops what Uncle Vernon had been doing to him. For someone to believe him and make it stop. But at the same time, he had never wanted anyone to know. It was so humiliating and dirty and wrong and… what if he had been wrong? What if he told them what had happened and they said that it wasn’t rape? That he had wanted it and he really was the horrid, using little slut Uncle Vernon always said he was?

There was a ringing in his ears and the bed seemed to be moving.

“-ry… Harry!”

Someone was calling his name. He looked up. It was Lyra, holding his hand and rubbing the back of his head. 

“Breathe,” she said. The ringing in his ears had stopped and even though he could tell by the way she moved her mouth that she was whispering, it hammered against his skull. Everyone else had backed off across the room.

“Wha’?” 

“Breathe,” Lyra whispered again, a bit more vehemently this time.

Finally realising that his lungs were aching, Harry forced his lungs to suck in a sharp mouthful of air.

“Slowly,” Lyra coached. “Not too much at a time, or you’ll make your panic attack worse.”

Harry shot her a glare. He wasn’t having a panic attack.

Lyra smirked at him, “Hold your breath for a second… now in through your nose for five… three, four five… hold for three… out through your mouth for seven… four, five six, seven… and again…”

Lyra took him through this until he stopped shaking enough to make the bed frame quiver. Lyra handed him a freshened cup of tea and beckoned the adults back over.

“You kept flinching when anybody else tried to touch you,” she explained. “They were worried you might hurt yourself…”

It was weird that Harry didn’t mind the Slytherin’s touch. However gentle she had proven herself to be, he had only known her for a few hours. Merlin, had it really only been six hours since dinner. A quick glance at the clock showed just past midnight. He guessed it was probably because she had never let him down. It felt nice, as she held his hand again, as she had all night.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she muttered to him, as the others retook their seats. “If it gets too much again, just squeeze my hand like you want to break it and I’ll pretend to faint or something.”

Harry snorted, much to the adults’ surprise. 

“Harry? Do you think you can talk now?” Mrs Abbott asked.

“I- I don’t- I mean-” Harry couldn’t make his mouth work. He glanced desperately through his fringe, searching for some out and was met with Snape giving him the full on ‘I’m trying to drill to the back of your head with my eyes’ treatment. 

Snape’s gaze was practically sympathetic as he said, “What happened to you was rape, Mr Potter. You never have to doubt that we will believe that,” Harry gasped – he had always known Snape was a mind reader.

“Professor Snape,” Mrs Abbott hissed.

“No, he needs to hear this,” and Harry did. He didn’t flicker his eyes a millimetre. The more he held Snape’s obsidian gaze, the more his doubts seemed to melt away. “You are a child and he is an adult. Even if you gave your consent; even if told you what was happening; even if you asked him to do it – which I do not for a second believe – it was rape. You were in no way responsible.”

Harry wondered for a second if this was the moment he was going to break down and never be put back together. It wasn’t his fault. He felt about four as he sat there, staring at his professor and wondering whether he was going to start crying or not.

He finally managed to clear his throat and nod, at what he wasn’t quite sure. It was more confirmation that he hadn’t turned into a vegetable again.

“That’s great, Harry,” Mrs Abbott gushed. “Can you tell us-?”

“Can I just… talk… about it?” Harry asked, swallowing hard. “If- if I don’t just… get it out… I don’t think I will.”

Mrs Abbott looked a bit taken aback, but gave her consent. Madam Bones had her quill poised. Madam Pomfrey was in hyper-professional mode. Snape was back to being inscrutable and Professor McGonagall looked a bit sick and as if she’d rather be back outside… a bit like him, then. Professor Dumbledore looked like he was humming. Lyra was rubbing circles into his skin. He pulled his wrist away and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his head on his knobbly knees and keeping his gaze fixed on the bedding. He was just talking to himself…

“It- I think it started when I was eight. Aunt Petunia had taken Dudley to the cinema. They go every Friday when Dudley’s at home and Uncle Vernon used to go with them, but then he got a promotion and that week he said he needed to use Friday night to finish up some work so they would have the weekend free. I was quite pleased, because Uncle Vernon let me eat dinner with him and didn’t put me back in my cupboard straight after. He let me watch the telly. It was only the seven o’clock news, but… it was exciting. I’d only heard it before.

“Uncle Vernon was doing his paper work, but then he started talking to me. Uncle Vernon never talks to me, he only ever shouts. He said that I’d done a nice job with dinner. I remember that. I felt really… proud. He said that I deserved a hug, like Dudley got when he’d done well in school. 

“I- I hadn’t really been hugged before. No properly. One of the classroom assistants in Reception let me hug her once, but it was just her legs.

“He had finished working and was sitting in his big armchair and he said there was enough room for two of his, what with me being so skinny, so he told me to climb up on his knee. I wasn’t allowed on the furniture usually, but… I’d seen Dudley do it, so… I climbed up and- and Uncle Vernon told me to put my arms around his neck and I did and he put his arm round my waist and we just sat there. I was on his knee and he hugged me. Like Dudley. Like he actually liked me. I-

“That was all. I think that’s when it started…

“It didn’t happen every week. Most weeks Uncle Vernon didn’t have any leftover work to finish up and went with Aunt Petunia and Dudley and I stayed in my cupboard, but once every few weeks he’d stay and he let me sit with him. 

“He told me not to tell Aunt Petunia, as she didn’t approve of the quality of my work and didn’t think I deserved hugging, but he knew I deserved a special reward sometimes.

“I don’t know when it changed. I don’t really remember it happening, just suddenly his arm wasn’t round my waist anymore. It was… elsewhere. And he sort of started stroking and I sometimes felt things… move. Do you know what I mean? I didn’t like it.

"After a while I told Uncle Vernon I thought Aunt Petunia was right and I didn’t deserve things like Dudley… They weren’t like Dudley’s anyway. I said I would just go to my cupboard and leave him in peace. But, he came and got me and told me I had to have my reward.

“We had a talk at school about… sex and stuff. And they told us about stranger danger and everything – I think I was nine by then – and the teacher, Mrs Baxter, told us that we should tell an adult if someone was acting weird, so after class I told her. I said that Uncle Vernon kept making me sit on his knee and touch him and that I didn’t know what to do and she said that I was an ungrateful little liar who shouldn’t drag good people’s names through the mud with my slander, just when we’d been told how serious it all was. She thought that I’d just listened to the talk and decided to get some attention from it-

“Please let me finish. I can’t- I-

“Aunt Petunia wasn’t happy. She got me with the frying pan that time and didn’t give me any food that week. That was one of the only times Uncle Vernon actually hit me. Like with his fists and everything.

“Anyway, Uncle Vernon didn’t have any leftover work for a few months after that and I thought that maybe I was just overreacting. Maybe he had just been trying to be nice and I’d ruined it. Maybe that was how parents rewarded their children and I was a freak for getting so squirmy about it and now Uncle Vernon wasn’t going to be nice to me anymore at all.

“The next time he did have work to do, I didn’t complain, or try and go to my cupboard and Uncle Vernon told me how wrong it was to describe affection as it could always be taken the wrong way and grown-ups didn’t like little boys who lied.

“When I turned ten, Uncle Vernon said I deserved an extra reward for being so good and he took me upstairs to the spare bedroom. I always have to clean the spare room on Saturday mornings and Aunt Petunia is weird about not wanting the bedding to get musty, so I have to change it regularly even when no one’s been in there. I don’t think she’s ever noticed that I change the sheets on days after Uncle Vernon’s stayed home.”

Harry took a shuddering breath and jumped as a tear plopped onto his hand, he hadn’t even felt his eyes prickling. He felt his face, but it was dry. Oh, he hadn’t been blinking – his eyes must have just been reacting. He blinked rapidly to sort out the crustiness. Apart from that, he just felt numb. Nothing was different. No spectacular weight being lifted or anything. Just… numb.

“Thank you very much for telling us all that, Harry. I know that must have been hard for you.”

Harry nodded into his robes. She didn’t know anything. He wished he could just crawl under the blankets and hide away forever, for all the good that would do. Madam Bones was muttering something and parchment was being rustled. He felt so tired. 

“Do you mind- I need to ask for just a couple of bits of information and then I promise that’s it for tonight. Do you think you can manage that?”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and shrugged. It wasn’t like he could feel anything at the moment. It felt a bit like that time last year, the night after he had saved Sirius from the Dementors, when Madam Pomfrey had insisted on him taking a calming draught before going to sleep. Yeah, it felt like that, only his skin was kind of all tingly, as if he’d been scrubbed with a rough towel. Maybe he just needed a hot shower – with all the thoughts tumbling round his head, it would be nice to be under boiling hot water, to wash it all away, if only for a moment. Harry knew it didn’t work for long.

Mrs Abbott didn’t seem to realise he wanted to stay in his detached little cocoon and insisted that he actually talk to her, “Professor Snape said you mentioned having been pregnant before? He said in second year?”

Her voice trailed off and Harry nodded. Professor McGonagall was breathing as if she was about to start crying again.

Mrs Abbott exhaled noisily at his silence, “According to your exam you had a miscarriage at 20 weeks?”

Harry’s breathing was so shallow, he wasn’t sure his lungs were actually registering it. Goodbye to the lovely numbness. He gripped his knees tightly to stop them shaking and nodded again.

“I- I looked in the book and he looked like the picture of the twenty week… and Uncle Vernon only did it on those three days after the Masons… Aunt Petunia had to take Dudley out to make up for the fuss and-” he swiped at his eyes again. Now they were definitely watering.

“Harry, I’m so sorry, but can you tell us what happened? You miscarried at Hogwarts?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. There was no point keeping it a secret and it might be nice if someone else knew he existed… like he wasn’t being crushed in the chest every time someone sat under his tree. “I didn’t even know until- I had just been putting on some weight until- I sort of got this really bad stomach ache… it was just after the Christmas holidays had started. Um, the twenty third and there was just me and Ron in the dormitories and Ron never wakes up unless there’s food. I went to the loo and this sort of… strange- I wasn’t- I-” he cut himself off, blushing. As painful as the whole thing was, this bit was just embarrassing and however much his book said it was normal, as a bearer, it still seemed freakish.

“Bearers’ genitals switch to female when the baby is due,” Madam Pomfrey explained. “From what I can remember – and I haven’t read a lot about this – when it is time to give birth, there is a slow… shall we say ascent? But in the case of miscarriage it can be a rather sudden and painful process, I should imagine more so if you don’t know what is going on,” she sounded as sympathetic as Harry had ever seen her. If he looked up, he was definitely going to start crying, so he just nodded his agreement with her assessment. ‘Disturbing’ would be his way of summing the whole thing up.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know I should have come to the Hospital Wing, but I just sort of felt like I needed to… push, I guess. And then there was all this blood and- I just got in the shower, because of the mess. I didn’t even think about it and then there was this baby. He was only tiny and… he wasn’t breathing, or moving, or anything. He was just there on the shower floor. He’d come out of me!” Harry couldn’t help it, he started pulling at his hair. 

He knew it was ridiculous. He hadn’t even known he was going to have a baby, but the loss of the little person that he suddenly knew had been causing the strange little sensations in his stomach hurt so much he thought he might implode. He had started pulling his hair after that and stabbing himself with quills. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it until Hermione pointed it out to him and had had to make an effort to stop as one: his hair had started to come out; and two: Hermione had threatened to tell McGonagall he was self-harming (which he so wasn’t). Sometimes though, when he found the thought of his little innocent little baby creeping into his head, he found himself starting all over again. It just hurt so much that it made sense to hurt a bit on the outside too, even if it would never match.

“Harry?” Harry’s head shot up. Lyra had taken his hands and was pulling them away from his scalp. He stopped resisting when he saw the tears in her eyes. He knew he must match, as his cheeks were definitely wet now, but he didn’t think he was going to sob. He hadn’t really cried since that night. Since he had realised that he had lost his son… and that he had nearly had a son at twelve. He had cried a lot on that bathroom floor that night. Ron had just thought he had come down with a cold.

“Did you tell anyone about this, Mr Potter?” Professor Snape asked, apparently seeing that no one else wanted to carry on with this torture.

Harry shook his head.

“May I ask, why not?” Snape said smoothly.

“I didn’t really know what had happened. I got a book that summer in Diagon Alley, but until then, I thought it meant I was some sort of freak, or something,” it hadn’t been much of a stretch for Harry. “And there was the whole Heir of Slytherin thing and everyone thought I was evil anyway...”

“What-” Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and quickly looked to the Ministry Witches for permission, to which Madam Bones inclined her head slightly. “What did you do with the foetus?”

The numb feeling was back. Professor McGonagall looked so distraught by the whole thing. Maybe he could have told her. Maybe she would have listened, even if she didn’t in first year…

“I… I put him in a sock,” Harry squeezed his eyes shut. It had made him physically sick, but it had been the only thing he could think of. “It was a clean sock,” he insisted, desperate that they understand. “I’d only worn it a couple of times and… I took him to the grounds. There’s a Rowan tree near the lake, you know on that little hill going over to the greenhouses? I told Ron and Hermione I was going for a walk, when they were busy… I had him in my pocket. I took him out. I had found this heating charm – recalfacio – and melted the ground. I dug it up and buried him. By the time everyone was sitting outside again, the ground was back to normal.”

“You carved a cross in the tree,” Dumbledore murmured.

Harry wiped his nose with his hand and Snape handed him a handkerchief with a vaguely disgusted look. Harry took it and wiped more thoroughly, “Yeah. Someone got rid of it after a couple of weeks, though.”

They all fell into silence, although Harry couldn’t figure out whether it was meant to be thoughtful or respectful. It annoyed him. They hadn’t seen him. They hadn’t cared about him. “I called him Rowan, too,” he said, his chin held high. “I know he wasn’t- but that was his name.”

Lyra laid a hand on his shoulder, but it was Snape who replied, “It’s a good name.”

There was a lot of throat clearing after that statement. Too many of the adults were teary-eyed and it was making Harry uncomfortable. He was just so tired.

“Harry?” Merlin, it was Mrs Abbott again.

Harry couldn’t take anymore, “No! Please. I can’t- Don’t you have enough? Isn’t it enough?” tears were still flowing from his eyes, although he still wasn’t sure it actually counted as crying. “Please,” he whispered again. He didn’t want to talk about Uncle Vernon, or Aunt Petunia, or the cupboard, or teachers who hated him and he certainly didn’t want to talk about his little Rowan. It was enough for one night and Harry had had enough.

“That’s enough,” Snape ordered, sweeping to his feet and planting himself at the foot of Harry’s bed, as though he were going to defend Harry from unwanted questions. “The boy is exhausted and there is no reason he has to speak of everything tonight.”

Harry gave him a bleary look, wondering why he couldn’t have said all this earlier. Also wondering where on earth this Snape had come from. Harry thought he could tell from the way the man was standing that he was glaring. It was nice having it aimed at someone else for a change. 

“You’re quite right, Severus,” Madam Bones said. “That’s quite enough to charge the relatives. There are several things I would like to look into further, but they can wait until later.” She clambered to her feet and was followed by a cowed Mrs Abbott. They both murmured their goodbyes to Harry and headed over to Madam Pomfrey’s office. A second later, they could hear the floo flare and then nothing.

Dumbledore was smiling benignly, seemingly oblivious to everything Harry had said, although his eyes didn’t have a hint of twinkle to them and his face looked more lines than ever. Professor McGonagall was wringing her hands in her lap and every time Harry caught her eye, she turned away immediately. Snape ignored them both.

“Poppy, is the boy well enough to leave the Infirmary? I do not want rumours following him until we are more prepared.”

Harry appreciated the forethought. Knocking on Snape’s door was as far as he’d got and even that had been hijacked and now he was just on the runaway train of whatever this had become. Snape seemed to know what he was doing, though.

Madam Pomfrey tutted and said, “According to the charms, the foetus is healthy. Mr Potter, have you been experiencing any pains, or any unusual symptoms?”

Harry started, “No, ma’am.”

“He suffered from morning sickness earlier in the evening. Is that normal at this stage?”

Madam Pomfrey sighed and moved over to the bed, taking Harry’s arm from Lyra despite him flinching and shooing the protesting girl away from his bed. She just moved to the other side and glared. Ignoring Snape for the moment, “I’m just going to take a blood sample, so I can see what supplements you may need,” she explained to Harry, before turning to Snape. “He’s healthy enough to leave, although he needs rest and good food. He’s underweight, especially for three months pregnant, but so long as he eats, he and the baby should be fine,” she smiled reassuringly at Harry as she felt him tense. 

She tapped her wand against his arm and a thin stream of blood flowed out through his pores and into a waiting vial. He didn’t feel a thing. 

Taking the vial, Madam Pomfrey turned to answer Snape’s second question, “Nausea in pregnancy can continue throughout, although it tends to taper off after the first twelve weeks. Unless he is unable to keep food down, I wouldn’t be worried.”

“It’s a lot better,” Harry slurred. He could barely keep his eyes open.

“You need to get to bed,” Madam Pomfrey bustled. She turned to the professors, “Unless you decide where he can go in the next five minutes, he’s staying here tonight. And no lessons tomorrow.”

“Quite,” Snape said. “And to bed with you as well, Miss Fawley. You are excused from morning lessons as well.” He brooked no argument.

Lyra grumbled, but seeing that Harry was pretty out of it anyway, scurried out with a quick goodbye. She’d pester Snape for information on Harry’s whereabouts in the morning.

Snape looked down his nose at the drained boy and turned to his colleagues. 

McGonagall said, “I can take him back to the Gryffindor-”

“No.” 

The older professor looked scandalised, “Severus, I am his Head of House-”

“A house which has to all intents and purposes expelled Potter right under your very nose,” Snape purred. “He needs a stress free environment and shoving him back into the lion’s den will not provide that.”

Harry was sure he was hallucinating. There was no way Snape would worry about his stress levels.

McGonagall’s eyes reddened and she looked away.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Snape continued, “I would suggest the guest quarters, but I do not think it’s a good idea for the boy to be left alone. The only logical conclusion is that he stays in my spare room.”

“Severus! You can’t be serious,” Professor McGonagall was definitely back again. She looked as scandalised as when she had found them in Moaning Myrtle’s toilets. “At the very least, he should remain with me!”

“I am quite serious, Minerva,” Snape said, completely level. That reminded Harry, he really needed to write to Sirius. “I asked Nippy to make the room habitable when she delivered the tea. It is perfectly adequate, at least for tonight and most importantly ready. It’s secluded and comfortable, and I have enough medical training to assist in the event of an emergency. And might I remind you, Minerva,” his voice dropped to a purr and Harry was impressed that his Head of House didn’t step back. “That it was me the boy came to in the first place.”

“Yes, well-” Not one to be cowed, Professor McGonagall pulled herself up to her full height, which rivalled Snape’s, and squared her shoulders. Normally, Harry would have been more than happy to be entertained by a shouting match between his professors, but right now he hoped it would be a short one.

“I realise I am not welcome in your debate regarding young Harry’s welfare,” Dumbledore interrupted, peaking over his glasses at them. Both the professors glared. That was odd, but Harry was too tired to even try and fathom their dynamics right now. “But might I remind you that you are nearing your time limit and Harry needs somewhere to spend the night, as unfortunate as the necessity for debate is. Personally I agree that Severus’ rooms are the most suitable, if for no other reason than they are readily available.”

McGonagall deflated, “Yes, Headmaster.” She looked sadly at Harry, who could only blink at her.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Snape said in a rather clipped tone.

The potion’s master marched over to Harry’s bed and – at Madam Pomfrey’s encouragement – Harry swung himself up to his feet.

“Floo me if there are any problems, Severus, although I don’t foresee any,” Madam Pomfrey said.

Snape inclined his head, “And you will get inform me when you have the results from the tests, as I need to start brewing the supplements as soon as possible.”

“And as soon as I have been in touch with St Mungo’s, yes,” Madam Pomfrey said.

Harry heard Professor McGonagall choke behind him.

“Come, Potter,” Snape ordered.

Harry tried to step forward, but swayed as exhaustion clouded his brain. Snape sighed and gently grabbed his elbow.

As his greasy potion’s master steered him out of the Hospital Wing and back into the depths of the dungeons, the last thing Harry heard was the headmaster’s voice, tinged with guilt, “Good night, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Update 21st September. Please Read and Review.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry was in a white room. Soft white, not antiseptic. Harry felt so calm and content, although he couldn’t tell why, as there was nothing there. Maybe it had something to do with meditation, like those books Aunt Petunia read a few years ago talked about – trans-in-dental, or something like that. Not knowing what else to do, Harry flopped down onto the – surprisingly soft – floor and sighed. It was nice to have some peace and quiet for once. 

Just then, Harry heard someone laughing. He whipped round to find a black haired boy, with blue-green almond eyes and chubby cheeks standing behind him, playing with flower petals that were falling from the sky, like when the apple blossom trees in the park turned. He was so beautiful and Harry just knew he was his Rowan. Harry so wanted to go over to the giggling, happy little boy. To take him to his chest and hold him. He knew that if he could just hold him everything would be all right. He got up and strode over to the little boy, who beamed up at him. But as soon as he touched him, the child’s eyes became lifeless shells and the floor was suddenly covered with blood. The happy scene swirled away, leaving the child lying on the blood-stained tiles Harry remembered so well from that night.

“Useless freak!” Uncle Vernon’s voice boomed out. The blood on the floor, which was rising to pools around Harry’s ankles rippled with the force of Vernon’s footsteps. “Spoil everything you touch!”

Harry was curled up on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards, soaked in bright red liquid from head to toe.

The door crashed open.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry sat bolt upright, green still flashing behind his eyelids and soaked in sweat. 

He blinked in confusion. He didn’t recognise this room. It was certainly a relief to be in a bed, instead of his makeshift nest, but whose bed was it? Whosever’s it was, it was the cosiest bed he’d ever been in. 

Harry forced himself not to lie down, groaning at the desire to sink back into the cloudlike mattress, but knowing that as soon as he closed his eyes again he would be back in the nightmare he’s just escaped from. Ever since he had realised he was pregnant again, he had been assaulted by memories from that first pregnancy, remembering the sensations he had brushed aside last time. Dwelling on these things had brought about a spate of night terrors that left him a quivering wreck. It was exhausting, being ripped from sleep every night, but there was no way he was going back to sleep now.

Knowing that the particularly vivid dream was because of what had happened last night and having no desire to go back over that fandango, Harry decided to have a snoop instead. He slipped out of bed and stumbled towards the blurry square of light, which he assumed indicated a window. After a bit of fumbling, he pulled aside the curtains and his assessment was proved right and he felt his way back to the bed, until he found a side table, and his glasses upon them. That was better.

He could now see that he was in a medium sized room, with a stone floor covered with Persian rugs, and shimmering deep blue silk wall hangings. Upon touching them, Harry found stone underneath. All the furniture was a dark oak, including the four-poster, double bed he had just got out of. Harry’s eyes widened. 

He had never slept in a double bed before. Maybe they were all that comfortable, with room to spread out. Harry doubted that, though, guessing from the way the sheets had rumpled that that he had slept curled up in a ball like he always did. He stroked the dark blue sheets, just a shade lighter than the wall hangings, covering the plush duvet. It was by far the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in, including the Gryffindor dorms, and he hadn’t thought anything could be nicer than those, although the other boys often complained that their own were better.

Over all, Harry would call the room opulent. Not quite warm, or lived in, but certainly snug. A guest room?

He looked out of the window, hoping it might shed some light on his whereabouts. A view overlooking the lake, the sun shining over the mountains beyond. That didn’t help, although he knew he was still in the castle, at least.

Going back to the beginning, he forced himself to think about the previous night: talking about the Dursleys and Uncle Vernon… he remembered talking about Rowan, but after that he had just… switched off. 

He had refused to talk. The Ministry witches had left. Lyra had left. Madam Pomfrey had been talking to him. Professor McGonagall and Snape had been arguing about something…

Bloody hell!

Harry scrambled to find a lamp, so he could find his clothes. He was in Snape’s spare room. He couldn’t remember getting back here at all. Did that mean he had fallen asleep? Had Snape had to carry him back? After everything he had admitted to last night that was just doubly humiliating, like he was some sort of child that needed caring for. Harry could take care of himself, thank you very much. And had the man changed his clothes? Harry shivered at the thought of Snape touching him while he slept.

Finally finding the lamp, Harry lit it with a touch of his wand, which he had also found on his bedside table, he was able to see his books stacked on the desk under the window, along with his (slightly crumpled) school work, and his clothes on the dresser. Even his Firebolt was propped up against the wardrobe. Had the man gone through his belongings? 

Forgetting all about the comfort he had awoken to, Harry was furious at the violation, but he wasn’t about to go marching around Snape’s quarters in his pyjamas. Grabbing his toiletries, he went over to one of the two doors the room had. Opening it a fraction, he saw to his relief that he had a bathroom attached to his bedroom. He hadn’t wanted to go dashing through whatever awaited him through the other door, opening doors at random and have to explain to the greasy git that all he wanted to do was brush his teeth.

Not knowing what time it was, but not wanting to outstay his welcome and incite Snape’s wrath, Harry quickly scrubbed his face and teeth and pulled on his school robes. He looked longingly at the shower, having made do with cold splashes in the sink, or – when he could manage it – the Quidditch changing rooms, for two weeks now, all he wanted was a steaming hot shower, but he shuddered at the thought of standing naked in Snape’s quarters, even if he did have two doors he could lock.

Now as clean and dressed as he felt he could be, Harry tiptoed through the room he had been in and opened the other door, slipping out as quietly as possible.

“Ah, Mr Potter, I didn’t expect you to be awake so soon.”

Harry shot up so straight it must have looked as though he’d been electrocuted.

Turning his entire body slowly round, Harry was faced with Snape, in his usual teaching robes, sitting on a worn leather sofa, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a thick book. It was all far too domestic for the bat-like potions master, and Harry considered just turning round, crawling back into bed, pulling a pillow over his head and taking his chances with the nightmares. He didn’t want to have to face Snape.

Snape placed a bookmark in his book, placed it on the stained coffee table, and rose from his seat.

“Would you care for a beverage, seeing as you are awake?” Snape asked. Harry tried to discern whether there was a reproof hidden in the seemingly innocuous question. He didn’t normally have to try so hard.

Snape was now hovering by a door that Harry assumed must lead to some kind of kitchen area. He hadn’t thought of Professor’s having kitchens, but it made sense – they weren’t always at meals, and especially people like Snape, probably preferred some quiet time. It must be a nice escape from the scrum of the Great Hall, without having to resort to the scrum of the kitchens.

“Mr Potter?” Snape asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

Harry realised he hadn’t answered Snape’s question. That was sure to rile him up. He shook his head, but then remembering his manners, said, “No, thank you.”

Snape nodded and returned to his seat. Harry didn’t move an inch. So far, Snape hadn’t sneered, or snarled once and Harry didn’t want to break the spell by entering the man’s personal space and ruining his good mood.

“Sit down,” Snape drawled, his upper lip curling slightly.

Uh oh, Harry thought, so much for not getting on his nerves.

“I can go. I’m sorry to impose,” he started to move towards what he thought might be an exit.

Snape was on his feet in an instant.

“Mr Potter, I said, sit down.”

Harry froze. He didn’t want to be alone with Snape. He certainly didn’t want to be alone with an angry Snape who knew all his worst secrets.

He heard a heavy sigh behind him.

“Forgive me, Mr Potter, I did not expect you to wake for some time and am unprepared. If you would please sit down, I will endeavour to explain the situation to you.”

Completely taken aback by Snape apologising to him, Harry twisted round. Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose and looked as though what he had just said physically pained him. He hadn’t changed that much, then.

Harry slunk over to the seating area, trying to make as little impact on the room as possible, like when he was younger at the Dursleys. He mentally winced at the comparison. He perched on an armchair, as far away from Snape’s position as possible. He wished he could slip onto the floor, but somehow didn’t think the man would be very happy with that.

Snape sighed again, “Mr Potter, I remember you said yesterday that your relatives did not allow you on the furniture. That is not the case here. If you would relax, you would find yourself far more comfortable.”

Harry swallowed, but forced himself to follow the instruction and slid back so he was fully seated on the plush armchair; he remained so tense that he was surprised he wasn’t hovering.

Snape huffed, “I suppose that’s the best I’m can expect,” he muttered.

Not knowing what to say, Harry tried to school his expression into something he hoped could be described as ‘not sullen’. Snape just rolled his eyes, pointed his wand towards the kitchen and out floated a tea set, by the smell of it, loaded with peppermint tea from yesterday.

Forgetting his wish to leave as quickly as possible, Harry thanked Snape, poured himself a cup and raised it to his lips, before pausing. Mad-Eye Moody’s voice echoed through his head, “Constant Vigilence!” Maybe Snape had slipped something into his tea. Harry might not have said everything he did last night if it weren’t for that stupid tea! He had only intended to tell them about the baby, not everything about everything.

His heart rate picked up and, suddenly shaky, Harry let the cup clatter back onto the table, careful to hit the coaster, even if Snape wasn’t bothering.

Snape frowned, “Would pumpkin juice be more to your liking? You seemed fond of this beverage yesterday.”

Harry just stared at him. He didn’t understand what was going on. He had woken up in a strange bed, in different clothes to the night before. He could tell nothing… extreme had happened last night, but…

“Potter?” Snape asked, looking worried. He stood up and came over to Harry, who flinched back. Snape just looked irritated now, “What is it, boy?” he snapped.

Harry swallowed, “Please, sir, I can really just go,” he was aware he was whining now, but goodness knows what Snape thought was reasonable, after what he had said yesterday. Sure, the man had seemed to be understanding and supportive, but who was he kidding, that was just in front of everyone else.

“Potter,” Snape stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “You are working yourself into a state and it isn’t good for the baby.”

Harry gulped and stopped breathing entirely. What if he was hurting the baby? And Madam Pomfrey had said that him being thin could hurt the baby? And he hadn’t been sleeping properly and… what if something happened and it was all his fault?

“Potter!”

Harry’s head shot up. Snape was crouched in front of him, although he had somehow moved the coffee table without Harry noticing and was outside arms reach. 

“Breathe, you foolish boy. I’m not going to hurt you,” Snape sounded so cross about the whole thing that it was actually more comforting that him actually being nice. “What is the matter?” Snape enunciated as if Harry were an idiot.

Pulling himself marginally together, Harry gasped, “What happened last night?”

Snape sat back on his heels. “You don’t remember?”

“I remember you telling me that I was staying down here, but… did I get changed, or…”

Snape made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, jumped up and started pacing, far away from Harry, who was still hunched over and shaking. Harry hugged his stomach, trying to stay calm.

“Do you really think- Did you-” Merlin, he had really offended Snape now. He had never seen the snarky potions master lost for words.

Harry just stared at him, wide eyed.

Snape seemed to pull himself together and stopped pacing to… flop..? back onto the sofa. He rubbed at his forehead, too hard not to be a bit painful. “Clearly I was mistaken in my assumption that you were compos mentis enough last night, Potter, to not require an explanation. I brought you back here last night, because you needed somewhere to stay better than a broom cupboard. I hope my guest quarters satisfy that requirement?” Harry blushed and tried to say something, but Snape wasn’t finished. 

“When you arrived here, you clearly needed to sleep, so, with your permission,” Snape’s eyes narrowed in warning. “I performed a switching spell for what you assured me were pyjamas. At no point did I touch you.”

Harry nodded. He supposed he shouldn’t have thought the worst of the man, even if it was Snape.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, head bowed.

Snape regarded him for a moment, before tching, “I suppose it is an understandable reaction, given the circumstances.”

Harry’s breath caught. After a moment’s silence, he moved onto his next complaint, although he tried not to voice it as such. “Did you- did you go through my things?”

“I attempted to avoid examining the artefacts,” Snape’s upper lip curled again, which Harry didn’t think could be good for him. “The bag needed to be unpacked, as the charm was going to wear off, at which point your possessions would have been destroyed. Since you appear to have few enough to begin with, I did not think it wise to wait for you to return to consciousness.”

Still chagrined, but seeing the logic, Harry replied with minimal petulance, “Thank you.” After a second’s thought he added, “Sir.”

“You did not mention last night,” Snape continued, in the same level voice. “That as well as starving you, your relatives failed to provide you with basic necessities such as clothing.”

“They didn’t starve me!” Harry shouted. “They just didn’t give me a lot.”

“You stated quite clearly, multiple times, that you were withheld food while ‘on punishment’,” Snape drawled.

“Lots of kids don’t get food when they’ve been bad,” Snape said, not rising to Harry’s temper.

“You mean being sent to bed without supper? That is at most one meal, and most parents enforce it as no dessert.” Snape sneered. “And your ‘being bad’ was quite beyond your control, as your Aunt well knew.”

Snape suddenly leant forward and said, very intensely, “Mr Potter, you forget that I have seen the report and, while we were unwilling to push you last night, all of us are aware of the fact that you have suffered from malnutrition most of your life. If it weren’t for you magic, you would have suffered from brain damage by now from the times you were ‘sometimes thrown’. Your organs would have been permanently damaged. You would not have use of your hands, because of how they were broken. And, if they had followed through with their trend of not getting you medical attention, certain instances of internal bleeding could have led to your death. It was all over a long period of time, and you recovered quickly enough that it seems to have barely registered even with you that this is what they were doing, but They. Hurt. You.”

Seeing Harry had gone white, Snape made a visible effort to calm down, he leant back, “Drink your tea,” 

Harry complied and allowed the warm, soothing liquid to slide down his tight throat. He couldn’t believe the Dursleys had really been that bad. If they had been, why had no one stopped it?

Snape looked at him shrewdly, “Would you have even come forward if not for your pregnancy?”

Harry shrugged and Snape made a disgusted noise again.

“Of course not,” he spat.

“I wasn’t abused,” Harry spat. He had had enough of this. He knew he should be grateful to the man for helping him, but the only reason Harry had come forward was because of the baby. The rest of it was… incidental. He only talked about it because Mrs Abbott insisted.

“Potter,” Snape growled. “Even if you ignore the physical abuse-” Harry scoffed and Snape glared harder. “Even if we assume that all these injuries were inflicted by a child, the fact that that child was not merely never curbed in his behaviour, but encouraged, is shocking. You mentioned that you were locked in your cupboard? Tell me, Mr Potter, what would have happened if there had been a fire?”

Harry clenched his teeth, having no answer. 

Snape bared his teeth, in imitation of a smile, “Withholding food for days on end is abuse. Belittling them and slandering them. Making them fear retribution if they perform well at school. Taking away a child’s light bulb because you feel like it. Not giving them clothes.”

Harry was shaking. “My clothes are fine.”

“They cover you. If that is your only criteria for suitable clothes, then they might as well have given you a sack and had done with it.”

“I don’t want to talk about this!” Harry yelled. “Certainly not with you.”

Snape sighed again. “Drink your tea.”

Harry slammed the cup on the table. He wasn’t playing Snape’s game.

For a second he thought Snape was going to shout at him, but instead his mouth just twisted a bit and he said nothing. When Snape had kept his silence for a good thirty seconds, Harry had had enough. He got up and prepared to march out.

“You are to remain here for the day. We need to adjust your classes to accommodate your pregnancy and we need to talk through your condition with your professors.”

Harry whirled round, “What!?”

“Mr Potter, you are in my quarters, you will treat me with respect.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Sorry, what, sir?”

Snape’s jaw clenched, “I am giving you some leeway, because you are overwrought after the events of the last few weeks, but this temper tantrum will end!”

Harry blushed, but stood his ground.

“You shall remain here. It is safest and your belongings – such as they are – are already here. You can do your homework, or read, or better yet, sleep. It is only seven thirty and Madam Pomfrey’s report states that you are sleep deprived, although that is not surprising, considering your recent living conditions.”

Snape drained the dregs of his cup and rose from his seat, “You don’t have a choice in this, Potter. I am going to breakfast in the Great Hall and then have classes to teach. My rooms, including my private lab, and all unsuitable books have been warded. You have access to your room, the living room and kitchen. I trust they shall still be intact when I return at lunchtime.”

Snape marched over to the door, sending Harry scuttling back. Snape turned at the door, “Even if you don’t like hearing it from me, you would not have come to the professor you heard dealt with abuse cases, if you did not in some way identify with the victim you overheard. I realise this situation is less than ideal, Potter, but I assure you I don’t do it for pleasure. Make sure you order something to eat from Nippy. Anything you want, preferably with some substance.” And with that he left in a swirl of robes.

Harry was left standing in the middle of Snape’s quarters, unwilling to move and break the eerie silence that descended as soon as Snape slammed the door. He swiped at his eyes.

What did Snape know? Sure, Harry had thought about what that boy in the library had said and had been able to compare it to what the Dursleys did to him and then some, but he wasn’t abused abused. Not like the stories Aunt Petunia cooed over in the papers, where the children were all covered in scars and stuff and he didn’t believe for a second that his magic could make that big a difference. Snape was just trying to make him feel bad. Apart from… what Uncle Vernon did, it was just Dudley being Dudley and his Aunt and Uncle going a bit overboard with punishments. Of course he wouldn’t have caused all this fuss if he didn’t have to worry about the baby.

He didn’t want his baby growing up at the Dursleys, even if he did think his relatives would let him back when his freakishness was proven by a factor of ten thousand. 

Harry sank back into the armchair. Didn’t that say it all? If he didn’t want his baby near the Dursleys, why should he be?

Shaking those thoughts from his head, not wanting to delve into that confusing quagmire just yet, he had a proper look round Snape’s living room.

Like the guest room Harry had been put in, it wasn’t what he would have expected of the dour potions master. There was another wide window with a view over the lake. The ceiling was low, but not claustrophobically so and it was beamed throughout, making it seem more like those Tudor Halls he had read about in primary school, than a dank dungeon. There were more Persian rugs covering the stone slab floor and the furniture was a mismatched bunch, clearly picked for comfort over aesthetics, and all well used. Books lined every available wall, so there was no discernible colour pattern to the room, apart from that colour all old books seemed to pick up. The smell of old books was the overpowering odour of the room as well – musty, but not damp, like old grass and interesting dust.

Harry liked it; he thought it was rather tasteful. A bit like a room out of the design magazines Aunt Petunia sometimes leafed through. She would huff about intellectuals thinking they were above good taste, say they were all hippies and then go and make sure that the flowers she had been arranging matched the wallpaper, before she put them in the living room. 

Harry decided that when he had his own house, he would like to decorate it like this. It was a bit more sedate than the Burrow, but had the same homey feel about it. Harry wrinkled his nose at the thought of Snape living somewhere homey and instead decided to stare out of the wide, inviting window, just watching the clouds go by.

Harry was startled from his reverie by the door clattering open and a slightly surprised Lyra tumbling through.

“Hi Harry,” she chirped, dusting herself off.

“Lyra! What are you doing here?” Harry asked, jumping up. He was so pleased not to be all alone in Snape’s rooms. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

Lyra laughed, making her entire face light up, and “Professor Snape cornered me on the way to breakfast and said ‘I see you’re another dunderhead who can’t follow instructions. You are in no state to respond adequately to your lectures and will be more of a hindrance that an asset in practicals. As there is an equally idiotic child in my quarters, who is probably working himself into a state as we speak, you might as well go and keep him company. Maybe see if you can help the dunderhead grasp the simplest concepts of potions, although if you do engage in this adventure, do try not to simply dictate the answers.’ And then he threw me in here. According to my Snarky Snape to English Dictionary, that translates roughly as ‘you look really tired. Go and hang out with Harry and make sure he’s okay, maybe help him with his homework’,” she ended with a giggle.

Harry frowned, “I didn’t know Snape could be translated.”

“Ah well, Gryffindorese is a complex dialect that I have yet to master, although I am told it is far more based in sarcasm than subtext.”

“And sometimes not even that,” Harry muttered.

Lyra kicked her shoes off and slumped onto the sofa next to Harry.

“I don’t know Snape’s policy on shoes, and you’re not going to tell me. You can blame my dad’s massive feet for the fact that I have absolutely no comfortable shoes,” Lyra nestled into her spot, curling up immediately. She looked around, “This is nice.”

“Fewer cobwebs and coffins than I expected,” Harry observed, earning himself a swat from Lyra.

“Now, now, none of that,” she smiled. “He was really good yesterday and he’s doing his best. It’s against his nature to be nice to a Gryffindor.”

Harry sniffed, but said nothing. He knew what she was saying was true, but it was just naturally difficult to feel anything better than slight mistrust towards Snape.

“How are you?” Lyra asked, rather than push the point.

Harry had no idea. He shrugged and pulled a face.

Lyra pulled a face right back. “Have you eaten?” she asked. “Snape said I needed to make sure you ate, and I didn’t actually get to breakfast.”

Harry shook his head. “Not hungry,” he said.

Lyra frowned, “You need to eat. You’re too thin as it is. They kept talking about malnutrition and stuff last night. It’s not good for the baby if you don’t eat, even if you don’t want to. I remember when my mum was pregnant and had really bad morning sickness the doctor insisted she eat little things all the time, just to get stuff into her, so she didn’t lose weight.”

“Your mum had a baby?” Harry asked. Maybe she would have some insight for him.

“She and dad said it was replacement for me and they could avoid making the same mistakes this time round. I said they did it so they wouldn’t be bored without me. Either way, I have a lovely little sister at home, who turned eight in May.”

“Oh,” was all Harry could think of to say.

“So, food?” Lyra pressed. “You can have anything. I think the professors are more bothered about actually getting stuff into you than anything else.”

Harry thought for a moment. He wasn’t queasy, exactly. He was just so nervous about everything that was happening that his hunger seemed to have been switched off.

“Fruit salad,” he said. 

Lyra sighed, “Hardly substantial.”

“But healthy.”

“But not exactly fattening, and fattening is what you need,” Lyra grumbled.

“I’ll get fat enough,” Harry groaned.

Lyra grinned at him, “Tell you what, I’ll order a big Full English and two plates. You can have your fruit salad, but you have to take a bit of the fry up as well. We can just sit and eat all morning.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Deal. But no kippers!” they were making him sick.

“Excellent,” Lyra jumped to her feet, clapping her hands as if ordering breakfast was the most exciting thing in the world. “What was the name of Professor Snape’s elf again? Oh yes. Nippy!”

Nippy popped into the room.

“Is Miss Lyra and Mr Harry be needing breakfast?” she piped, ears flapping everywhere.

“Oh, Professor Snape told you! Yes please,” Lyra then proceeded to give a breakfast order that had Harry’s eyes watering and rounded it off with, “And anything else you think would be nice to nibble on, please, Nippy.”

Nippy looked absolutely thrilled as she popped out again.

“That’s enough to feed Hufflepuff,” Harry spluttered.

Lyra pursed her lips, “Oh please. Ravenclaw, if anywhere. They always have their noses too far in books to bother with food.”

Harry spluttered with laughter as the coffee table suddenly over flowed with food.

“Yous be calling Nippy if yous be needing anything else,” Nippy trilled.

“Thank you Nippy,” Lyra said, grabbing a plate and digging in with relish.

…

By the time Snape returned to his quarters at twelve thirty, Harry had managed to eat his fruit salad, a bacon sandwich and two pain au chocolat, which he had never had before, but after Lyra insisted he eat one that she had warmed up for him, he decided they were his new favourite food. They had also got through another two pots of peppermint tea and Lyra had persuaded Harry to actually go and take a long soak in the bath, after finding out that the only baths he had ever had were at the Burrow, in between the seven other occupants of the house.

She had run it for him filling it with some bubble bath she had found under the sink, promising to take the flak from Snape should he be annoyed about it. She had then ordered him to soak for at least ten minutes, actually joking about his revelations from the night before. It made him feel a lot less squirmy and apocalyptic about the entire thing.

When he emerged fifteen minutes later – there was a limit to how long he could just sit there, even if it had been one of the most relaxing experiences of his life – the coffee table had been cleared and Lyra suggested they did some homework. So, Snape found them like that: side by side on the floor, the coffee table covered with books and scraps of parchment, Lyra explaining to Harry how different preparations affected the release rate of properties in moonstones and where to find this information beyond the textbook.

Harry jumped out of his skin (or to his feet) when he saw Snape lurking by the doorway, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“Potter. Miss Fawley,” Snape growled at them.

Harry gulped. Clearly his behaviour this morning had not been forgiven.

Lyra was going about tidying away their schoolwork, while Harry just stood there, feeling like a complete chump. After a moment’s deliberation-cum-confusion, he dipped back down to help her gather away the parchments.

Snape snorted, “I have ordered lunch for us. It should be here shortly.”

Harry nodded and sheepishly excused himself to wash his hands, his arms laden with his morning’s work. He took as much time as he dared arranging his things back on the desk and washing his hands in the adjoining bathroom. Really, it had been very kind of Snape to let him into his rooms… and the man had even referred to them as Harry’s room, even if it was probably only a figure of speech. Lyra said she had never got further than the front door, when she had had to come to get him on Prefect matters, and not only had the man given Harry – his most hated student – a ridiculously wonderful bed, in his own room, rather than just making him sleep on the sofa, he had allowed another student access, just to keep Harry company.

Harry knew he should be grateful for being allowed in at all. He sort of remembered Guest Quarters being mentioned, but actually the thought of being left all alone after everything that had come out yesterday made him feel like his chest was being clawed at. 

Not only had Snape let Harry use the wonderfully comfortable room, but he’d thought about Harry’s wellbeing, telling Lyra and Nippy that he needed to eat, sending Lyra in the first place, letting Harry use his books, which had been very helpful, although it had been Lyra who insisted they look at them – Harry wasn’t ashamed to say, he had been too chicken to go and touch any of Snape’s belongings himself. If it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have moved from the armchair Snape had directed him to that morning, for fear of overstepping some undefined boundary.

And in return for all that, Harry had basically accused the man of being no better than Uncle Vernon. Snape had every right to be pissed.

Harry stepped back out into the living room to find it empty. He followed the voices to the kitchen to find Snape and Lyra chatting about Potions NEWT. After a minute, Lyra noticed Harry loitering in the doorway.

“Hiya Harry, would it be okay if I used your bathroom to wash my hands? I need to get this ink off them,” she waved her smudged hands in his face and skipped over to his room without waiting for an answer, leaving Harry alone with Snape.

Harry shuffled around under the professor’s unceasing gaze, before giving in, “I’m sorry for the way I acted this morning, sir. It was unforgivable.” Harry wasn’t completely sincere about that – as much as he was grateful to the man, he could have explained everything better and stopped him from panicking. What would have happened if he hadn’t been there when Harry woke up? He would have just wandered out and apparently caused problems.

Snape regarded him for a tense few moments before finally nodding.

“Pumpkin juice, or tea?” the man said.

Harry blinked. He had been expecting an ‘apology accepted’, or something. He would never know where he stood with Snape. “Um, pumpkin juice, I guess,” he said. “I’ve had a lot of tea this morning.”

Snape just poured a goblet of juice and slammed it down on the table where Harry assumed he was supposed to sit.

Sliding into the seat, Harry chose to offer yet another olive branch, “Your rooms are really nice,” he stuttered. “I really like the windows.”

“Natural light is healthy,” Snape simply said. “I had charmed windows installed in my rooms when I moved in. Despite the prevailing belief, I have no particular desire to emulate a bat.”

Harry gulped and decided staring into his pumpkin juice was the safest option.

Fortunately, Lyra emerged at that moment, took one look at Harry and snorted. “What’s for lunch, Professor?” she said, overly cheerful, in Harry’s opinion.

Snape’s upper lip twisted as he replied, “The tests say that Mr Potter is somewhat anaemic, so as well we the supplements he will be taking from tomorrow onwards, it is recommended he have red meat. I have ordered leftovers from yesterday’s Sunday roast, as I am unaware of Mr Potter’s preferences.”

Harry blushed, “Thank you, Professor, you didn’t have to.”

“Actually I did.”

Harry waited, but Snape didn’t elaborate.

Lyra poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice. 

Finally, the meal arrived, giving Harry something else to focus on, other than Snape’s slightly ominous presence – honestly, didn’t the man slouch occasionally? On Harry’s plate was a pile of slices of roast beef, roast potatoes and steamed vegetables, with a large gravy boat to the side. Lyra and Snape had the same. Harry gaped at the loaded plate. He doubted even Ron could have finished it.

Perhaps sensing his scepticism, Snape said, “You do not have to clear the plate, Mr Potter, but you need sustenance. Eat as much as you can.” Coming from anyone else, it was an expression of concern.

Harry nodded and dug in, savouring the juicy meat. It was so tasty he had to stop himself moaning.

“I don’t remember there being beef yesterday,” Lyra said conversationally, but she had fixed Snape with a shrewd gaze. It was true, they almost always had chicken as the roast, sometimes pork…

Snape didn’t even look up from his own plate, “Mr Potter needed the iron,” was all he said, as he speared a perfectly sliced potato and popped it in his mouth.

They ate in silence, which Harry was grateful for, as he really didn’t want to focus on eating so close to the professor. When Harry couldn’t eat any more without facing the distinct possibility of bursting, he laid his cutlery down.

Snape cleared the plates to the sink, giving Harry a death glare when he jumped up to help and ordering him to the living room. He and Lyra were met with yet more tea, as they sat back down in their adopted seats.

Snape strode in, took one look at Lyra’s socked feet and summoned her shoes. “Shoes on your feet, feet off the furniture,” he drawled, draping himself into the corner he had occupied that morning.

Harry perched at the edge of his seat, once again painfully unsure what to do.

Snape poured him a large mug of peppermint tea and handed it to him, while Lyra was still grumbling.

“I’ll get to the point,” Snape said, abruptly. “I possibly should have told you this before you ate, but needed to make sure you got food and I shall have to return to class imminently.”

Harry squirmed. If the man had more than facial expressions beyond neutral, distain and loathing, he would have a better idea of what to do.

“I have just come from a meeting with the Headmaster. He has informed the other judges of the situation, and upon further examination of your submitted parchment, they have come to the conclusion that you did not enter your name. Your signature was most likely ripped from a piece of your homework, after it had been replicated. We are going to look into which assignment it may have come from.”

“That’s good isn’t it,” Harry asked. “That means I didn’t agree to the contract. I don’t have to compete.”

He turned round and saw that Lyra was worried. She looked at Snape, who nodded. “It’s not good, Harry,” she said, her voice slightly too kind for comfort. “If you wrote your name on an official document, which homework is, sort of… it’s a bit like if you were signing a contract saying you did it, or that’s what your magic thinks.”

“My magic?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You learn about it in seventh year charms a bit.” She turned to Snape, who took up the explanation.

“Since it is indeed your signature, imbued with your magic, the Goblet has accepted it as acceptance of the contract. You must compete, or you will lose your magic.”

“And then I’ll lose the baby,” Harry slumped back and rubbed his eyes. He really should have got more sleep last night. 

“Among other things,” Snape said. “We had hoped that you might be able to make a token effort in the tasks, fulfilling the contract in letter, but not in spirit, but Crouch has looked over the contract in full and apparently the drafters wished to prevent the Champions from fixing the Tournament. You must compete to the best of your abilities, or again, risk losing your magic.”

“I really hate that contract,” Harry said bitterly.

Lyra laid a hand on his shoulder, but Harry didn’t react. Snape had said he would help Harry and for some reason he had believed him. Now he was going to have to compete in this stupid competition, and either die, like Malfoy kept saying he would, or lose the baby because of a stupid freak accident or something. Lunch sat heavily in his stomach and Harry was immensely grateful for the peppermint steam wafting in his face.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Lyra asked. 

Snape sighed, “After much debate, the judges have agreed that Mr Potter shall have a shield charm placed on his abdomen during all the tasks. In addition he will be given an emergency portkey, which will take him to the Hospital Wing when activated, if he feels the baby is in any danger.”

“That’s good,” Lyra nodded. Harry perked up slightly, but it still seemed a bit like locking the stable door after the horse had bolted.

Snape continued, his voice eerily, falsely calm, “The judges, after much persuasion on the part of the Headmaster, have also agreed that, in deference to Mr Potter’s age, the fact that he has definitively not entered himself, and his condition, certain… allowances will be made.”

“Allowances?” Harry asked, despite himself.

“You will be granted help from a chosen teacher for the tasks. Someone will be there to discuss a strategy with you prior to the First Task, and at the appropriate moments in the second and third.”

“I’ll get help?” Harry asked. It was like Lupin last year. Someone was actually going to help him!

“Yes,” Snape said.

“Thank you,” Harry gasped.

“The Headmaster’s doing,” Snape said, but there was a glow in his eyes that Harry couldn’t decipher.

Harry stared at his professor in shock.

“This’ll work, Harry,” Lyra whispered, nudging him. Harry grinned slightly and leant into her. With the pale autumn sun shining through the wide window, sitting on the battered armchair and even with Snape looming next to them, Harry almost felt peaceful for the first time in a month. 

“Now, Mr Potter,” Snape drawled, rising to his feet. “You are still run down and need sleep. I expect you to take a nap before you appointments this evening.”

“Appointments?” Harry asked, taken aback by the sudden change.

“With the midwife and magic specialist. Six o’clock tonight. You may dine back here afterwards.”

“Wha-”

“I’ll collect you at five thirty. Try to sleep until then.”

Harry grumbled. He hadn’t taken a nap since he was five and his teacher had wanted a break for the afternoon. “I don’t need-”

“The anaemia will have made you tired, along with your other nutritional deficiencies. And I hear pregnancy itself is quite wearing.”

“My mum slept all the time when she was pregnancy with Clio.”

“Quite.”

Harry spluttered.

“Miss Fawley, I trust you are returning to class?”

“If Harry’s okay,” she said. “You’ll be okay sleeping this afternoon, won’t you Harry? Professor Flitwick said this afternoon was important, but I’ll stay if you really think you can’t sleep.” She looked at him with big, innocent eyes.

Damned Slytherins. 

Harry nodded.

“Good,” Snape said and swept out, taking Lyra with him in a whirl of robes. The last thing he heard before the door slammed shut was Lyra complaining that Snape should have given Harry some pudding.

Harry sighed. He didn’t want to take a nap. He was a teenager and had been taking care of himself since he could remember. He didn’t need to be sent to bed like a stroppy toddler.

Still… he was tired. And Lyra had helped him touch up all his homework, so he didn’t really have anything to do except dwell on what on earth the tournament might bring. And the strangeness of the situation. And what the specialists were going to say.

Maybe checking to see if the bed was as comfortable as he thought it had been this morning wasn’t such a bad idea after all, Harry thought, as he wandered back towards the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter update 28th September. Please Read & Review!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely reviews!

Severus was marching to the Headmaster’s office with such a foul expression on his face that it sent stray students fleeing down useless corridors; the ghosts floating through walls as soon as they saw him; and the inhabitants of portraits kept emitting annoying little squeaks and cowering. It was all quite irksome. 

Just before he reached the gargoyle, Severus changed course into a long since disused classroom, ran a hand through his hair and shouted the worst steam of obscenities he could think of at the ceiling. Suddenly remembering that it wasn’t yet curfew and there were some students who did not know his trajectory or mood, he warded the door, before once again screaming at the heavens and proceeding to send blasting hexes at every single chair and table in the room. It was only when the blackboard had been reduced to dust that Severus straightened his robes and hair, squared his shoulders, unwarded the door, and continued his brisk stride to the end of the corridor and the gargoyle to the Headmaster’s office.

“Sugar Quills,” he growled, disgusted at the flippant password the doddery old fool still employed at such a time.

He knew that Dumbledore was going to tell Flitwick and Sprout of the situation, and had said they would be done by the time Potter’s examinations were over, so they could be apprised of the results. Since he prided himself on being observant and having known his colleagues for over thirteen years now, not including his time as a student, he was not surprised to walk into a room filled with sniffling. Snape sneered. As if hand wringing would help the boy. Minerva was there, comforting Pomona.

“Severus, my boy,” Dumbledore greeted, his calm, benign smile belying the dullness of his eyes.

“Headmaster,” Severus purred. He could not look at Dumbledore right now without thinking about the fact that the man had just left Lily’s son on a doorstep in the middle of November, just after a deadly attack by a maniac, and then never checked up on the boy beyond posting a squib available by dint of being unemployable anywhere else. Minerva had been very forthcoming when she found out about Potter’s circumstances. The fact that she had known that much of the circumstances and done nothing made her nearly as culpable in Severus’ eyes and that was just one of the reasons he had for glaring at her now. At least he himself could claim ignorance, beyond the fact that he should have known Petunia would never have changed.

Ignorance is never a defence, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered. Snape snarled at it to shut up.

“How is he?” Minerva said quietly.

“Is it true?” Pomona cried, as if somehow Severus would swoop in and proclaim it was all a sick joke.

“Of course it’s true,” Snape snapped.

Filius wrapped a comforting arm round Pomona as she began to cry into her grubby handkerchief again. Catching a glimpse of dirt actually being dislodged from her hat by the force of her sobs, Snape wrinkled his nose. He knew from experience that aiming a cleaning charm at her would incite the kind little woman’s wrath – and she had a mean stinging hex on her – but he did wish she would tend to her laundry slightly more regularly, especially since she was surrounded by dirt all the time. He himself could not help the greasy nature of his hair and was fastidious in the rest of his appearance to make up for it.

Severus metaphorically shook the irrelevant thoughts from his head and flopped down into the remaining chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose as hard as he could. That action got his colleagues attention. It was rare, even after all this time, for him to be so free around them.

“What did the midwife say?” Minerva asked.

“The child looks to be in reasonable health for now. And the baby too,” he added bitterly. “He’ll probably be on nutritional supplements for the rest of his pregnancy and probably for some time thereafter too, but the boy actually seems to have been sensible in eating when he can. The scans showed that his nutrition improved exponentially upon his arrival at Hogwarts.”

“That’s good,” Filius said.

Severus sneered. “The midwife admitted to me, in private, that it would be better for him if he miscarried again. Pregnancy is risky for any fourteen year old, but for one with longstanding health issues… it needs to be delicately treated. This Tournament is not going to help.”

“Severus, we did everything we-”

“I know this is the best we can do!” Severus snapped, not in the mood for Dumbledore’s platitudes. “I’m not sure it’ll be enough.”

Pomona gulped, “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but mightn’t it be better if Harry had an- an abortion, if continuing with this pregnancy is going to be so dangerous?”

Severus sighed. He had wondered the same thing, “Apparently in bearer male pregnancies, the magic that sustains the foetus has to run its course naturally, either to miscarriage or birth. If extraction is forced, through abortion or caesarean, the bearer will either lose their magic, or die.”

“So he has to keep the baby,” Minerva summed up.

Severus nodded, “And have a natural birth, which is another thing the midwife was most worried about. She said that because he’s so small, his hips are still narrow, which could cause problems. On top of that, apparently women who give birth after being raped sometimes have problems… giving up control of their bodies, is probably the best way of putting it. Since the anatomy is slightly different in Potter’s case, she’s not sure what will happen, but if he does have a reaction – refusing to push, or a panic attack or some such happening-”

“It could be bad?” Pomona asked.

“Fatal,” Severus said, his upper lip curling. That bastard might just end up killing the boy and thanks to the Ministry insisting he be tried in muggle court, he might just get away with it. Your Honour, I know this is about the rape of a young boy, but said young boy just died in child birth… Severus’ throat constricted.

“Does Harry know,” Dumbledore said in a soft voice.

Severus shook his head. “She told Poppy and I while Potter was getting dressed. The boy was entirely too thrilled at hearing the baby’s heartbeat to notice anything amiss.”

“He heard the heartbeat,” Minerva asked, watery eyed.

Severus nodded curtly, “That’s the other factor against abortion, even if it were possible, he wouldn’t allow it. Potter seems devastated by his first loss. He expressed his terror over a reoccurrence to the midwife multiple times.”

Pomona started weeping again, “I grew over the cross,” she wailed. “If I’d known-!”

“You thought it was vandalism,” Filius reasoned. “None of us knew.”

Severus hoped not. 

“I’ll make it right,” Pomona vowed.

“Not until after the First Task,” Severus ordered.

“Quite,” Minerva said, having pulled herself together. “The last thing he needs at the moment is us dredging up his- his worst memory,” she blew her nose.

“What I don’t understand is how this happened,” Filius said with a furrowed brow. “I’ve never actually heard of a magical child being raped before. I thought the assailant was always thrown off, when it was tried. Are we sure Harry’s magic hasn’t been somehow damaged?”

“Potter admitted this evening that when his Uncle first tried to undress him, he received a powerful electric shock. Unfortunately that only seemed to have angered the man more and the use of rubber gloves seemed to solve the problem for him,” Severus explained.

“But nothing after that initial resistance?” 

Before Severus could answer, Dumbledore steepled his fingers, “Without meaning to be, it would appear Vernon Dursley was intelligent. He normalised the behaviour for Harry, meaning his magic did not know how to react to the situation. It was years of building, by which time his reactions had been confused.”

“It is far more insidious than that, Headmaster,” Severus sneered, unwilling to allow Dumbledore’s conclusions – even if they were partially accurate – to stand. It had been his assumptions that had caused this catastrophe in the first place. 

Dumbledore spread his hands, as if in defeat, “Please, my boy, if you have an explanation, then please do share it. I must admit I too am surprised by Harry’s lack of defences, especially after the legends of bearers’ magical protections. One would have thought he would be likely to react.”

Severus scowled at him. If anyone said anything like that near the boy, Severus vowed to personally disembowel them with the measuring spoon he used for rat’s intestines.

“While it is certainly true that Potter’s magic was stymied by the slow escalation, the manipulation of the boy’s magic began well before that. You are aware that Poppy called in a Core Specialist from St Mungos?”

Dumbledore inclined his head.

“She found that Potter’s displays of accidental magic fall well outside the normal parameters of even muggleborn children, in that the occurrences were few and far between. Immediately after he arrived at the Dursleys he is well within, if not above, normal parameters of outward accidental magic – explosions when angry, rudimentary summoning and the like – but the incidences get further apart the older he gets.”

“Are you saying the boy’s magic is stunted?” Dumbledore leant forward.

“Not at all, Headmaster,” Snape replied stiffly. “Many of the events later in his childhood, Healer Smethyke said could be classed as wandless, rather than accidental magic. Apparition, albeit over a very short distance. Metamorphmagic abilities at one point. While it may not seem that impressive, he changed his primary school teacher’s wig blue once. He was not angry, or scared, he just didn’t like her very much; apparently he was thinking about how she didn’t like people who looked different and then suddenly her hair was blue. Then, of course, there was his healing, which would fall under the category you yourself have raised: protective magic. I hardly think anyone could class that as stunted.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers again, looking grave. 

“Potter could tell us every time he had used overt accidental magic after the age of four and each time corresponded with a period of prolonged starvation, or injuries, which Potter still maintains were received almost solely from his cousin. He could name every time.” Severus glared at the Headmaster. “He said his relatives would get ‘upset’ when he did ‘freaky things’ and although he had no idea how they happened, his magic clearly entered a state of self-preservation and stopped showing.”

“It was blocked?” Dumbledore frowned. “He managed to put a block on his own magic?” A self-imposed block would be nearly impossible to shift.

The other three professors gasped. Severus understood. The boy could have been on his way to becoming an Obscurus. It was probably only his bearer magic’s instinct to protect himself and that he didn’t know it was in fact magic causing his abuse that stopped it, since he could not actively turn against his own talents… merely hate himself for it. Potter had been quite vulnerable after hearing the heartbeat and had been far more open with the Healer than he would have expected. Severus didn’t think he could stand recounting how the boy had casually referred to himself as a freak.

Getting back to the point, “A block was what Healer Smethyke originally feared. It was only a passing comment by Healer Wilson – the midwife – led to further investigation.”

Severus reached into his robes and took out a sheet of parchment filled with tiny swirling diagrams and symbols. Even Dumbledore had to squint to try and make sense of it.

“These are the results from a much deeper scan that was run. It is why I am slightly late,” Severus sat back as his colleagues examined the results, “Healer Smethyke has hypothesised that Potter’s magic internalised itself almost fully at around the age of nine, leaving minimal external magic for active defence. Looking at the timeline Mrs Abbott and the Healers have managed to construct, we think after the incidence of spontaneous apparition occurred while he was at school. He appeared on the roof and he was suspended for a week. Mr Potter said of the incident that afterwards his Uncle encouraged his cousin to push him down the stairs with some force and then kick him, for being an embarrassment to the family. The scans performed last night show at this time severe internal injuries that were healed by his magic. Smethyke confirmed that he would most likely have died from these injuries without medical intervention.”

Pomona whimpered and Filius’ jaw visibly tightened. Neither of them had had time to fully examine last night’s scan.

“He has come to the conclusion that at this point, partly out of self-preservation and partly out of the necessity of having magical reserves available for healing, Potter’s magic retreated. It… internalised, so to speak.”

There was a beat of silence. Dumbledore pushed up his glasses, “I think you may need to elaborate, Severus.”

Severus sighed, “Beginning from the boy being three, his magic began to turn inwards, focussing on healing and other… ‘protective’ – one could say – magic. Heating charms seem to have been enacted. Ventilation charms. Temporary shrinking charms that one would presume were used on his clothes, since they are only fit for a rather tired elephant. 

“The boy’s magic has grown to sustain his physical body, rather than outward manifestations. Hasn’t it ever seemed odd to you that an eleven year old recovered from a near full magical drain in just three days? And the fact that he was able to survive the venom in the Chamber of Secrets long enough for Fawkes to cure him – that took some explaining, by the way,” Snape huffed. “Even Hagrid shouldn’t have been able to last longer than a dozen seconds or so if he were bitten through his whole arm, as you claim the boy was.”

“That is what Harry said,” Dumbledore leant back.

Filius looked thoughtful, “Professor Lupin mentioned that Mr Potter has mastered the Patronus Charm, has he not.”

“Yes,” Severus bit out. “The wolf taught him.” His growing sympathy for the boy was not helped by memories of the foolishness of that night – running about with a werewolf on the loose after an escaped convict, not to mention cursing a teacher… it had certainly been a trying night. Putting all of that to one side, though, a corporeal patronus strong enough to repel a legion of Dementors was a sight to behold.

Tapping his finger against his cheek, Filius hopped down from his seat and began pacing. “What most people forget about Patronus’ is that they were originally developed – from what little information is available – as shields for our own personal and magical wellbeing. Their purposes have been adapted over the centuries, such as offensive weapons against certain dark creatures, like Dementors, but initially the charm was to create a conduit for love and hope, which certain branches of magic would have us take as… feeders, for want of a better expression, of our cores. The theory is that they were spirit creatures conjured as extensions of our cores, for… almost along the lines of communing with our cores, although very little documented evidence for this practise. 

“Magic is often at its strongest when linked with strong emotions and, whatever active practitioners of the Dark Arts would have us believe, all branches of magic seem – from what anecdotal evidence is available – to be enhanced by positive emotions, as opposed to the more destructive influences, such as hate and greed. The theoretical conclusion is that our magic is manipulated and determined by our prevailing emotional state at any given moment, which is another reason magical control seems to improve so much after adolescence. It seemed to have been an area of some interest a couple of centuries ago, although has since fallen out of favour. 

“The fact that magic feed off the emotions is well recognised in manifestations of accidental magic in small children. I suppose many older wizards and witches disliked the notion that they were still as vulnerable to their emotions as when they were children… and, it has to be said, mastery of the mental arts is not the easiest feat, so the general response must have been to simply brush the theory to one side.”

Catching himself, Filius waved all this to one side, “This is rather esoteric nonsense, but what I am trying to say is, it is possible that Mr Potter’s magic recognised the original root of the Patronus, which was as a magical enhancer to strengthen one’s body and soul – or core, as the distinction is now recognised – and thus allowed the manifestation of his full powers… based on the Healer’s conclusions. It may indicate the extent of his hidden abilities.”

Severus’ mind reeled at the overload of information. He often forgot that, behind the affable exterior, Filius Flitwick was a formidable wizard and academic to rival Dumbledore, especially since he didn’t get distracted by machinations at every turn. 

“Does this mean Harry’s magic will only properly manifest in a healing capacity?” Minerva asked, looking worried.

“According to Filius’ conclusions ‘healing’ may have a wide definition.” Severus huffed, “The boy’s hardly a squib.”

“No, but-”

“Smthyke did not say his entire magic had retreated, just the majority. For the moment, his general magic is adequate for his age and stage, just not reaching its full potential. The gist of what she said is that it needs to be… coaxed out,” Severus’ mouth twisted at the colloquialism. “She wished to conduct research on how best to achieve this.”

“Probably through experimentation in emotional control. We basically will have to retroactively build his core’s external channelling. I should like to collaborate with her on that, if she would allow it,” Filius rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “And, of course, with your permission, Headmaster,” he amended.

“You have it, of course, Filius,” Dumbledore said, as if surprised to have been asked. “Especially if it will help young Harry.”

“I’d forgotten all about the subject,” Filius said. “I always meant to research further… From what I have read in the past, my immediate recommendation would be some level of mental arts training…”

“Would it help if I trained the boy in occlumency?” Severus inquired.

Filius grinned, “That should be just the ticket. Having control over his emotional state should help. And maybe actually some more advanced work. I often find students who are stalled perform better under more pressure.”

“I think there is only so much pressure one boy can take,” Severus observed in a soft voice.

Filius deflated, “Ah, of course. I got carried away, forgive me.”

Severus brushed it aside. There was nothing to forgive. He himself would forget Potter’s situation if he could and what Filius was suggesting could yield fascinating results for early years’ magical development. Severus began to add to his ever growing mental list of what Potter needed. Ridiculously, he did not begrudge the energy this was taking up.

Occlumency lessons, although he would need to focus primarily on theory and meditation until the boy was physically and mentally stable, which was to say, after the baby was born. Either that, or severely alter his own legilimency methodology to not over stimulate the child’s mind.

Extra lessons were a necessity anyway, considering the fact that he would be competing against seventh years and the tasks would be commensurately difficult. Severus was just pleased that Filius had essentially volunteered himself for the task, even if it was for partly selfish reasons. Minerva would almost certainly jump to aid the boy if asked and Severus had found himself already devising lesson plans suitable for a pregnant teenager. Pomona would probably want to join in, which would take care of the peripheries and between them they should be able to cover everything the boy would need. It wasn’t that Severus didn’t trust the rest of the faculty, it was just that he didn’t know them as well as the other Heads of House and they were nowhere near as experienced as these three and Potter would need experienced hands. 

“Will this… internalisation of his magic affect the baby?” Pomona said in a small voice.

Severus had almost forgotten, “Actually, the Healers think it might be the very cause of his condition. Healer Wilson said that in her research into bearer pregnancies, she had never once come across a case that occurred before the man was in his twenties and his magic stabilised, and had only ever happened in dual wizard relationships. Before now, the research has always come to the conclusion that it took two wizards magic to sustain a male pregnancy.”

“In those wizards where the magic existed,” Filius added.

“Quite.”

“The point, Severus,” Minerva snapped. “Pomona had a serious question.”

Severus glared, “Smethyke and Wilson have concluded – although again they wish to conduct further research and tests – but from Mr Potter’s magical scans, they have concluded that Mr Potter’s retreated magic strengthened his bearer capabilities, forcing his secondary puberty, that is to say the development of his fertility cycles, much earlier than is considered normal in bearers. The enhanced nature of the magic meant that he is able to sustain a pregnancy even with a muggle sire.”

“Or, only same sex dual wizard couples have been recorded up to now and they all entered relationships later in life,” Minerva dryly quipped.

“Maybe,” Severus conceded. “In any event, the baby seems as safe as they can be given Mr Potter’s age and run down condition.”

“Comforting,” Minerva grumbled.

“All of this will need for Mr Potter to be willing to put the work in,” Filius frowned, obviously still enraptured by the research possibilities. “He’s never shown any particular zeal for academics in the past.”

“His despicable relatives doing,” Minerva spat.

Severus nodded at this statement, although he did not agree with it completely, “Potter knows he is going to have to work to get through this year, and is no doubt aware that his study habits will have to change to accommodate a baby. If he has not already grasped this concept, he will do by the time I have finished talking to him.”

“Don’t threaten the boy, Severus,” Minerva retorted. “And why should you be the one talking to him anyway? I am his Head of House.”

“Yes,” Severus drawled. “But as he is currently staying with me-”

“At your behest,” Minerva interjected.

“And as I have the most experience with abuse cases, I am the most qualified to handle the boy for the moment,” Severus continued. “This is going to take careful management. And do you honestly think he trusts you at the moment, Minerva?”

The older woman blanched, but Severus couldn’t feel too guilty about it. She had proven herself to be an incompetent Head of House and needed that driving home. Teenagers could not just be left to run riot – it turned into The Lord of the Flies. 

“Maybe he should move into the Guest Accommodation?” Pomona suggested, trying to placate her colleagues, who were currently standing nose to nose with matching expressions of righteous anger on their faces. 

“No,” Severus answered.

“No?” Minerva bridled. “I understand why you are reluctant to place him back in Gryffindor, but to just insist that he stays in your rooms-”

“He is vulnerable,” Snape shouted. “That is what you are all forgetting. The conclusion of the Healers today, to put it simply, is that he is very much the worse for wear. His magic has psychosomatically retreated, leaving him average at best in his abilities for the most part. He is malnourished. He is in denial that he was even abused by those horrendous muggles. He is in the second trimester of a high risk pregnancy. His friends – of whom he seems to have all of two – have abandoned him, based on a misunderstanding. And after all that, it was me – who he has every reason to believe hates him – who went with him to this appointment, rather than his Head of House.”

Minerva was bright red and opening and closing her mouth like a guppy. Eventually she found her voice, “I had a detention to oversee after dinner-”

Severus would not stand for that, “As did I. It would not be the first time a professor rescheduled a detention. Such an act is usually met with appreciation, in my experience.”

Minerva’s colour deepened. “I did not think he would like an audience.”

“He wanted support. He needed it,” Severus shot back. Potter had been upset when the woman had not turned up, even if he had tried not to show it. Severus had had to behave as if his staying with the boy had been the idea all along and he knew Potter hadn’t bought it. Once again, Minerva had failed the boy.

“Severus, I-”

“Potter will be staying with me until it is suitable that the situation changed,” Snape said coldly. “In the meantime, Minerva, I would suggest you try talking to your student. I trust you remember the way to my quarters.”

With that parting shot, Severus glided back to his seat and folded his hands on his lap, looking to the world as if he wasn’t in a state of seething anger, mingled with terror at having spoken to his former teacher that way.

After a moment Minerva sat down next to him. Severus did not look over and she did not say anything. With everyone now thoroughly uncomfortable, they wrapped up the meeting with a few more stilted suggestions about Potter’s new schedule and decided to resume the discussion at a later date – namely after the boy had competed in the First Task and had one less worry to deal with.

Pomona patted Minerva’s hand as they made their way to the door and Severus had to shake off Filius’ ever so slightly misplaced enthusiasm, but finally the other three left and Severus was alone with Dumbledore.

“Aren’t you going to call it a night, my boy,” Dumbledore asked, peering over his glasses. “As you yourself pointed out, it would not do to leave Harry alone for too long.”

Severus gave the Headmaster a glare that had in the past sent first year Hufflepuffs from his classroom in tears. Unfortunately, the old man was not so affected. “I had some additional items I wished to discuss in private, Headmaster,” Severus said through gritted teeth. This would all be easier if he remained civil.

Dumbledore nodded good naturedly and gestured for Severus to resume his seat, “And what might those be?” he asked, as though they were discussing some troublesome student that Severus wished to discipline… often enough, Potter’s name had been present in those conversations as well.

“The boy brought up some questions this evening, answers to which would probably put his mind at ease.”

Dumbledore spread his hands, “Ask away. I shall endeavour to answer all.”

“Most importantly, Potter expressed worry about his financial security. Unless I am much mistaken as to the Potters’ pecuniary condition, I see no reason why he should entertain such delusions, but he is convinced he will not be able to support his child beyond school. Probably some notion of the impossible expense of children foisted on him by those… monsters.”

The Headmaster nodded slowly, ignoring all Severus’ teeth bearing at the mention of the Dursleys, “I suspect Harry is unaware of the extent of the Potter Vaults. He probably assumes that his trust vault is it.”

“That’s an adequate assumption, Headmaster,” Severus growled. “But what are we to do about it.”

“Most likely he will not gain access to the rest of his assets until he is of age. I do not think wither James or Lily made provision to the contrary.”

“That’s as may be, but it would lay the boy’s worries to rest to know he will not be living in penury with the infant.” 

Dumbledore hummed, “I suppose I could contact Gringotts and see if he might be given an overview of his accounts.”

“Thank you, Headmaster, that would be most helpful,” Severus said, full of false sickly sweetness. 

Dumbledore ignored his subordinate and wandered over to the fireplace. It was only when Severus saw him take a pinch of floo powder and kneel that he realised what the man intended.

“Headmaster-!”

But it was too late. Severus cursed. The boy would never get his account information now, probably not until he was sixty and the goblins had forgotten a foolish old man had disturbed them outside business hours.

Dumbledore exited the fireplace, brushed himself down and wandered back over to the desk. It was only when he was fully settled and sucking on a sherbet lemon that Severus’ glare seemed to filter through.

“Harry has an appointment with Griphook tomorrow morning at eleven. They will make sure he is well looked after.”

Severus stared. He sometimes forgot that the foolish old man was in fact Albus Dumbledore. He gulped, “Thank you, Headmaster.” He almost sounded genuinely not angry.

Dumbledore inclined his head, “I am glad to be of assistance. What else is the problem?”

Shaking off his shock, Severus reviewed his mental list. “Potter queried what might happen should he not return to Gryffindor House.”

Dumbledore sat bolt upright, genuinely surprised, “He said that?”

Severus was back to being unperturbed, a state which he much preferred. “He questioned what was happening with his House-”

“We agreed that there would be no action until after the First Task, so as not to place more attention on Harry,” Dumbledore frowned.

“And I told him that,” Severus purred. “He then went on to worry what might happen should they refuse to take him back, and I would like to add, should they… react unhelpfully to the situation and he choose not to return.”

“You should have more faith in people, Severus,” Dumbledore said.

“I shall have faith when people show themselves worthy of it. Can you really say that of your precious Gryffindor’s, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore sighed, “They are children. Children make mistakes.”

“Children hurt other children,” Severus growled. “Something you should be well aware of by now.”

Dumbledore nodded sadly, “I suppose resorting would be pointless, as he’d have to go into private quarters anyway. I suppose it would be up to him. Resorting or continuing as an independent student are his alternative options as I see them.”

“But he would not be expelled?”

“Of course not,” Dumbledore said, scandalised. “He thought that? I trust you told him that was not the case.”

“Of course,” Severus purred. “But I do not carry the weight of the Headmaster and Potter was unsure as to your support, after last night.”

For the first time, Dumbledore looked thoroughly ashamed. As well he might, Severus thought. 

“I should apologise for my behaviour,” Dumbledore said softly, sounding old. “My reaction was inexcusable.”

“Yes,” was all Severus could say.

“Severus-” 

“Then there is the matter of the boy’s Dogfather,” Severus cut him off. 

“Severus,” Dumbledore said again, this time in warning.

Severus twisted his lips, but tried to remain calm talking about his childhood nemesis. “Potter admitted that he is in touch with the felon. Since he is in fact not a successful murderer – yet – I can see no reason to discourage it, if only because Potter seems erroneously to think he will be more useful than a chocolate cauldron in this crisis,” Severus felt like spitting. “He is worried to contact that mutt, but was babbling that the idiot wants to talk to him on Sunday… floo, I would guess, although how he was planning to safely manage that in the Gryffindor Common Room…” Snape trailed off, muttering about moronic mutts.

“I’ll write to Sirius and explain the situation to him. I will keep him contained, so to speak.”

Severus momentarily wanted to have the excuse of Black’s brashness and go and rip Dursley limb from limb with canine fangs, but as that would be approaching a compliment to the idiot, he wasn’t going to voice it out loud.

“If he still wishes to speak to the boy, my floo will be made available,” Severus bit his tongue – he hadn’t been expecting that to come out. 

Dumbledore gave a wide smile, causing Severus to humph. The older man wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Anything else?” Dumbledore asked, his good humour returned.

“For the boy, that is all for now,” Severus said. He didn’t move. Dumbledore cocked his head, rather like a confused puppy. “I wish for the day off tomorrow?”

“You wish to go with Harry?”

“No, Headmaster,” Snape said. “I did not know Mr Potter had an appointment tomorrow until a few minutes ago.”

Dumbledore ignored him, “Then why?”

“I contacted Madam Bones and she has given me permission to join the arrests of the muggles, as a representative of Mr Potter’s wellbeing.”

“Severus-”

“I promise not to physically maim the bastard in any way he deserves,” he sneered.

Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment, “This is important to you?”

“Very.”

After another pause, Dumbledore finally nodded, “I suppose I owe you that much.” Severus was not ready to open that can of worms. “But I cannot allow you to hurt the man, however much he deserves it. I do not want to have to break you out of Azkaban.”

Severus was not in the mood for even partial levity, “Shacklebolt has been assigned as our liason with the muggle authorities. You know he is squeamish in the face of more… creative punishment.”

“I am not so sure,” Dumbledore said.

Severus understood and returned the sentiment, but, “I know what happens to child molesters in muggle prisons.” He could not help but smirk at the fate that awaited Vernon Dursley.

Dumbledore looked suddenly very tired. “I am unsure it is wise for Harry to go to Gringotts unchaperoned. You know he is inexperienced in many wizarding customs and I am wont to push him into this alone.”

There’s a first time for everything, Severus thought. “What about the wolf?”

“Remus? Impossible, it was the full moon last night and even with the potion – which he asked me to thank you for, by the way – he will not be well enough.”

Severus nodded at the thanks. Out of all the Marauders, Lupin had been the least offensive… and Severus had cost him his job… but really, Severus just didn’t want a dangerous monster roaming the countryside if he could help it. Back to the problem at hand, “Mrs Abbott?”

“Busy with gathering the evidence for Harry’s case.”

“Madam Bones?”

“The same.”

“One of the staff?”

“A full teaching schedule. I can cover you, but not multiple professors, and I cannot cancel a day’s classes for one student.”

“Then who!?” Severus shouted. The boy really was infuriatingly isolated.

Dumbledore thought for a minute, “Have you thought about contacting the Weasleys. Molly’s always had a soft spot for the boy and however young Ronald is behaving, I’m sure she would like to lend her support, and she would be most useful for child rearing advice.”

Severus slumped. As much as he couldn’t, in his gut, support passing a responsibility off onto a Weasley, there wasn’t really an argument against it. Potter knew her, possibly even trusted her, and she would have good advice…

“They couldn’t tell anyone. Not even their offspring. If word of this gets out before the Task, Potter might not be able to cope. He is used to hiding behind a certain level of secrecy.”

Dumbledore held up a placating hand, “I have already agreed to this. Molly would be discrete.”

Severus snorted, ‘Discretion’ and ‘Weasley’ were ideas about as compatible as chalk and cheese. Still, it was the best he could hope for. He would just have to deal with wailing Gryffindors in the morning. He was being inundated.

“Fine,” was all he said. “I will contact her in the morning.”

Dumbledore smiled. 

Severus rose, “I will take my leave, Headmaster.” 

He was almost at the door and ready to put Dumbledore behind him for now, when the Headmaster called out, “For how long am I to be punished, my boy?”

Severus wheeled round. “Excuse me?”

Dumbledore was stood at his desk, his eyes unhappy and looking every bit an isolated old man. “How long are you going to punish me for my mistake? You know I never intended poor Harry any harm-” Severus growled. Dumbledore’s face hardened as he continued, “We both know I am not infallible, just as we both know our mistakes often have actions far beyond our control.”

“This was within your control, Headmaster,” Severus said evenly.

“Severus, I never meant for-”

“No!” Severus had had enough. He would not raise his voice, but he would have his say. He strode back into the centre of the room, grateful that Fawkes was out – he would never be able to speak like this with the irritating bird trilling that calming song of his. 

Taking advantage of the Headmaster’s surprise, Severus took a deep breath, “This was within your control. You could have checked the situation yourself, rather than entrust the safety of an orphaned child – never mind the precious ‘Boy Who Lived’ – to an uneducated squib whose brain is made of cat hair. You could have spoken to the relatives when first you delivered him, rather than leaving him like a parcel on the doorstep. You could have found some other arrangement suitable for the child when Minerva disapproved of them and I reminded you how Petunia persecuted Lily.”

“I truly believed that the familial bond shared by Harry and Petunia would allow some sort of loving relationship to form, even if it wasn’t the strongest.” Dumbledore said sadly.

Severus scoffed, “You could have realised that your faith in the sanctity of familial blood bonds is as ridiculous as the notion that pure-blood wizards are identifiable from power. If the bonds of family are so strong, Headmaster, why is it that you and your brother are incapable of being in the same room as one another longer than five minutes without hexes being thrown?”

Dumbledore’s face darkened. “Severus,” he warned.

Realising he may have gone too far, Severus decided a tactical retreat would be prudent. “You cannot say that you truly believed Petunia’s family loyalty, or love would out, when she was so consistently cruel to Lily. You certainly shouldn’t have presumed so for thirteen years.”

Dumbledore seemed to crumple in on himself, although he stayed as straight backed as ever, “I made a mistake. I truly did believe the blood wards would protect him.”

“From the outside world,” Severus purred. “You forgot about the evil within. Again. I could have brought to your attention what acts are perpetrated behind closed doors. In fact I have and still do more frequently than I care to admit. And still you ignore it.” 

“Severus-”

“I suppose I should take some comfort in the fact that not even the Harry Potter, your pride and joy, can make you see the dangers of child abuse properly,” he sneered. “And here I was thinking it was only Slytherins you ignored.”

“I did not know for sure he was being abused,” Dumbledore said softly. 

“You knew enough to suspect,” Snape sneered. “That is enough.”

“The blood wards-”

“You know, Headmaster,” Severus interrupted. “From what little I have read, blood wards require the person they are protecting to regard the residence as a home. Is that correct?”

Dumbledore nodded, “And when Petunia took the child in, despite everything, she sealed the protections Lily had set up in her sacrifice of him.”

Severus had to pause for a moment before saying, “You wasted Lily’s sacrifice. You wasted the protection a mother gave to her son in her final moments and threw him like a lamb to the slaughter. That boy does not see that place as a home. Even before we had agreed to take him away from there, he refused to name it as such. He has told me, quite plainly, that Hogwarts is his home. How do your blood wards stand now, Headmaster? Have you checked them recently? It takes more than sitting in a place to call it home. That child is home-less, unless you count Hogwarts.”

“We both have made mistakes,” Dumbledore implored.

“And it’s time we both paid for them.”

Satisfied that he had finally got through to the old man, Severus swept round and headed to the door. He really couldn’t leave the boy too long.

Just before he stepped out onto the stairs, Severus turned one last time, “I have not, nor shall I inform Potter that it was you who left him there, Albus. He looks up to you, despite everything, and he needs someone to believe in right now. It is up to you whether or how you tell him, but I shall not take away his trust. I know what that is like.”

Before Dumbledore could answer, Severus glided down the stairs, leaving him alone. 

Severus took the longest route he could think of on his way back to the dungeons. It was later than he thought and he hoped the boy had gone to bed already. Severus was in no mood for dealing with Potter’s spawn after such a hard meeting.

No such luck.

When Severus whispered the password to his quarters and slipped in, there was Potter, sitting in exactly the same chair as he had that morning, stroking his stomach and staring out of the darkened window.

Severus slammed the door, causing the brat to jump. Good. 

“Did you eat?” Severus snarled. He knew it was his own choice to have the boy here, but was a little privacy too much to ask for? 

“Yeah,” the boy nodded. “I… uh… I did the washing up, but I wasn’t sure where to put everything, especially since Nippy brought to bowl and everything. It’s by the kitchen sink. I hope that’s okay.”

Severus stepped into the kitchen to find a pristine soup bowl and goblet on the draining board. The kitchen definitely looked as if it had been scrubbed down as well.

Severus moved back into the living room, scowling at Potter as he went. “While it is admirable that you wish to clean up after yourself, there is no need to go into a cleaning frenzy.”

Potter blushed and squirmed under Severus’ gaze, “Sorry. I just couldn’t sit still,” he muttered.

Severus sighed. Of course he couldn’t. While all of this was Potter’s fault, it wasn’t really. As much as it would have brought him much joy to place the blame for his foul temper firmly at Potter’s feet, the boy was just an inciting factor and really as much of a victim as Severus himself. Deciding that it would be safer for both of them if they refrained from any further conversation until he had got some food into him, Severus called Nippy and ordered a portion of dinner.

“You only had soup?” Severus asked Potter as he waited, leading the way into the kitchen. Potter took the hint and followed.

“I, uh…” Potter seemed somehow thrown by even that simple question. Severus rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t very hungry after… everything. And I had a big lunch…”

“What was it?”

Once again, Potter was startled, “Nippy said it was chickpea and spinach or something. I don’t really know. I’ve only really had, like, leek and potato and stuff.”

Severus nodded. He had ordered the House Elves to try and keep the boy’s meals healthy and the meal they had chosen was high in nutritional value. “I trust that tomorrow you shall endeavour to eat more substantially.” As you were instructed to, Severus wished to add.

The boy swallowed and nodded. Severus regarded him for a second, but as Nippy appeared with his food, he said nothing more about it.

“Would you like some dessert?” he asked, remembering Miss Fawley’s complaints earlier. He personally did not approve of stuffing children with sweets, as the Headmaster insisted upon doing, but he was willing to allow Potter the luxury, if it meant he ate.

“Huh?” was Potter’s only response.

Severus resisted the urge to strangle him. It was only Lily’s confused eyes that helped him keep a relatively neutral face. “Dessert, Potter,” he said evenly. “Something sweet.”

“Oh, um. Yeah, I guess, that would be nice,” Potter mumbled. 

Again, Severus clamped down on the urge to snap. He abhorred mumbling. And prevarication. He called Nippy back. Her ears were flapping so much he was surprised she didn’t take off, but then again he rarely called her more than twice a day. 

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Um…”

Was it really so hard a question?

“Uh…”

“What is your preferred dessert?” Severus snapped.

“Treacle tart,” Potter yelped.

Vaguely amused by the wide eyed response his question had got, Severus nodded to Nippy who got the message. A minute later, Potter had a large helping of treacle tart in front of him.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Potter thankfully keeping his eyes on his plate. That was easier. It was so much easier in class, when Severus had assumed the boy to be the spoiled brat Dumbledore had promised he was being raised as – so different to Severus’ imperfect childhood, so similar to his thrice damned father. It had been easier when Severus could watch him from a distance in the classroom, secure in the knowledge that any fleeting resemblance to Lily was well lost in the miniature Potter clone he was being forced to endure for her sake, the boy’s angry eyes cementing that belief. The only time Potter’s eyes did not remind him of his long lost love was when they flashed with ire. The rest of the time, it was easy to turn the other way in most of their interactions up until this point.

Now though, knowing what he had been through, it was hard to despise the boy. Of course, he was still an annoying urchin who apparently was no better at sitting still at the dinner table than he was in the classroom and seemed physically incapable of answering a question properly or using ‘sir’, but… maybe he was no worse than any other student… not that Severus would want any other student in his quarters. Not that he wanted Potter in his quarters, but with Minerva being so utterly useless, his housemates being animals and-

“Sir?” Severus was brought out of his musings by the tentative voice of none other than Mr Potter himself.

“Yes,” Severus intoned.

Potter gulped, “Why am I here?” he quickly moved to elaborate when Severus’ face darkened. “I mean, I know I’m here because of not being in the Tower and everything, but why am I here with you? And why wasn’t I allowed to go to class?”

Severus resisted the urge to sigh. Merlin save me from Gryffindor’s with no ability to see beyond the end of their nose, he thought.

“Mr Potter,” Severus said, laying down his knife and fork. “Would you be more comfortable in guest accommodation, alone?”

The boy blushed, “I don’t want to impose. This is your home and I… I know you can’t like having me here.”

“That did not answer the question, Mr Potter. And please do not presume to know my feelings on your presence.”

“I didn’t mean-” he was squirming around on his seat as if it was burning him. “I don’t want to be in the way. I’d be fine in the guest quarters.”

“By your evasiveness, am I to assume that you do in fact like it here?” Severus questioned.

“Of course,” Potter blurted out. “I mean… It’s really nice and comfortable and everything, but-”

“Currently, comfort is beneficial to your health. Since I can provide it, you shall receive it.”

“But…” the boy looked around desperately. “You don’t have to. I’m not even in your house, or anything. Why do you want to help me?”

Severus paused, examining the distressed teen in front of him. He seemed almost painfully confused by the whole thing, “I want to help you, Mr Potter, because it is within my capabilities. It the responsibility of any professor to help their students. It just so happens that you are in need of different help than others. I repeat: would you prefer to have solo accommodation?”

The boy just stared at him. Severus could practically see the cogs in his brain working and just as he was about to give up hope of a decision ever being reached, Potter shook his head, slowly and unsure, but a decision none the less. 

“Good, then may I continue with my meal,” Severus picked up his cutlery and resumed eating.

Potter toyed with his tart. “I still don’t understand why,” he murmured. 

Severus did sigh this time. “Despite what your experiences might have led you to believe, you are still a child. At the moment, I am personally more at ease with the notion of you being where I can supervise you, since you have proven that you do not have a good enough understanding of what constitutes a healthy existence. I would prefer to see for my own eyes that you have not taken to sleeping in a cupboard, or eating nothing but soup. Until you prove that you are capable of taking care of yourself and your unborn child, I would be remiss in my duties to have you running about with the rest of the hoodlums you call classmates.”

Potter paled and placed a hand over his abdomen. “It’ll be all right, won’t it? I mean, I haven’t hurt… it, have I?”

“No, Mr Potter, they are fine and your midwife and all of your professors will endeavour to keep it that way,” Severus said tiredly.

Potter nodded, his food forgotten. “I overheard you talking to Healer Wilson. I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it’s just-”

“It is unnecessary to apologise,” Severus stopped him from rambling. Healer Smethyke had put up a privacy charm, but he had merely moved away with Wilson. He should have guessed Potter was listening in, despite his vacant expression. “What did you hear?” 

Potter bit his lip. “Something about pre-eclampsia? And how I might not be able to carry the baby… I- I couldn’t hear much and…” 

Merlin, Severus thought. He had sent a probably completely terrified child to his quarters with nothing to think about but the worst case scenario. No wonder he was jumpy.

Shaking away the sympathetic thoughts he was harbouring for Potter, Severus said, “The healers were indeed discussing the dangers associated with pregnancy at your age and in your condition, but so long as you are sensible and attend the check-ups they have already scheduled for you, the baby should be born healthy. Your magic – which we shall discuss in more detail when we are both less overwrought – is designed to sustain this pregnancy.”

“It didn’t work before,” Potter sniffed.

Severus hoped the boy wouldn’t start crying. He couldn’t cope with it right now. “Before you were twelve and ignorant of your condition. You have help now, Potter. Use it.”

“Yes sir.”

After stirring his tart again, which had now been reduced to crumbs, Potter said, “I just keep worrying… ever since I found out… that I was pregnant again, I mean… I just keep worrying that I’ve already messed up. Like what if a plant in herbology was bad for it? Or when Ron accidentally hit me with that book in charms? Or letting Professor Moody use the Imperius Curse on me-”

“What!?” Snape shouted, nearly upending his plate and the table along with it in his surprise.

Potter blinked at him. “The- the Imperius Curse, in defence. At first I actually thought I was being sick because of that. Professor Moody said Professor Dumbledore wanted us to learn about it.”

“About it,” Severus repeated. “Not by it.” The foolish old codger had done it again. Just once, couldn’t they have a non-lethal, non-moronic defence professor who could be trusted to get through the year without hurting the students?

“Sir?” Potter sounded scared again. Of course, the brat had been talking about the blasted baby.

“There is no evidence of anything being wrong at all, Mr Potter,” Severus said, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop himself from exploding. The boy didn’t need that right now and this wasn’t technically his fault. “Was this curse only used on you?”

“No sir,” he shook his head vigorously. “It was the whole class. We’ve stopped now, but he tried it for about a month. I can shake it off, but none of the others can… it really annoys Hermione…”

More evidence of the protective magic, Severus thought. And a good indicator that the boy could probably handle occlumency, if he could resist the Imperius.

“It has already been decided that you are to be on a restricted timetable until your professors have been informed in full of the situation. This will not be until at least next week, as we – meaning the Heads of Houses and the Headmaster – wish to minimise the risk of this news becoming public before the publication of the facts can be properly handled. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Potter said, staring at him.

“Good,” Severus leant forwards. “You are not to go near Professor Moody. Do you understand?” 

Potter nodded again, although more hesitantly this time.

He would have to elaborate. Enunciating clearly, so there would be no room for misunderstanding, Severus said, “As I’m sure you are aware, the curse Professor Moody demonstrated on you and your classmates is illegal. He should not have used it on you. Until the matter is sorted by Professor Dumbledore, you are not to attend his class and you are to avoid interactions with him as far as possible. If he is unstable, it would not be safe for the baby.” Or for the rest of the student population, but one battle at a time.

The boy seemed to get it this time, although he seemed rather thrown. You would have thought he would have been used to having lunatics as defence professors by now and have some sort of self-preservation instincts, but apparently not. Probably his awful relatives again, Severus gnashed his teeth.

Yet another thing to add to his list. Yet another thing to have to talk to Dumbledore about.

Finally having enough of his awful evening, Severus said, “You should go to bed. It is late.”

“Sir-”

Severus cut him off with a glare, which the Potter was smart enough to heed.

Severus was nearly alone and able to relax with his congealed dinner, when the boy popped his head round the doorframe again.

“Sorry, sir, but am I going to class tomorrow, or..?”

Severus kicked himself. He’d forgotten to explain again. “You are going to Gringotts tomorrow with Mrs Weasley, to discuss your finances.”

The boy gawped. “Thank you-” 

"The Headmaster arranged it,” he said curtly. “The following day you may return to the lessons which have been deemed suitable, if Madam Pomfrey finds you are no longer exhausted. You are still to come down here to rest when not in classes, as we do not want you exposed to the less salubrious portion of the student population at present.” What else? “Be ready by ten.”

“Yes sir,” Potter said, rubbing his stomach absentmindedly. 

“To bed,” Severus ordered. 

This time the boy obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update 5th October. Please Review!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely reviews! I’ve had a stinker of a cold + migraine the last couple of week, so they’ve been especially appreciated.

Harry hated waiting and he hated the unknown and right now he was experiencing both of those things at once, sitting in Snape’s – stupidly comfortable – armchair, with a stomach full of scrambled eggs mixed with mango chunks that suddenly seemed like a very bad idea, however delicious they had been at the time. Snape didn’t know about that – he’d stormed out at quarter to eight, growling to himself about foolish students who needed to be stopped from killing themselves with their own diets. 

In short: Harry was waiting for Snape to finish explaining everything to Mrs Weasley, so she would take him to Gringotts. Snape seemed to think it would all go smoothly. Harry thought different.

What if Mrs Weasley hated him? What if Ron had told her what a big lying cheat he was? What if she thought he was evil for having a baby when he was only fourteen, like Aunt Petunia, if she ever saw a pregnant teenager in the shops?

Harry poured himself yet another cup of peppermint tea from the self-heating pot Snape had plonked down on the coffee table before flooing out. It helped. Harry was pretty sure he’d be addicted to it soon. He loved the smell more than the taste – it was fresh, like toothpaste, but warmer… 

Harry really didn’t know what to make of Snape. He frowned, placing his tea cup carefully on the coaster and leaning back. It wasn’t as if Harry could say Snape was being nice. He doubted that would ever happen. ‘Snape’ and ‘nice’ cancelled each other out completely. Snape was snarky, sarcastic, difficult and had a pathological inability to smile beyond a smirk. But there was no denying that he had given Harry more support in the last two days than he could remember receiving from anybody.

Even now – whatever the man said – Harry knew Dumbledore wouldn’t have done anything about getting in touch with Gringotts if it weren’t for Snape. He had given up his rooms and privacy for Harry and had organised everything so that Harry wouldn’t be stressed… would be less stressed. He gulped his tea and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. 

It had been forty minutes now. Surely it shouldn’t take that long to explain… unless Mrs Weasley was being difficult about it. Not wanting to think that would mean, Harry tried to reason his way through dealing with the day on his own. He didn’t want to do that under any circumstances, but Snape had made it clear he was busy and Harry knew he couldn’t impose on the man that much.

Before he could get himself worked up into a complete panic attack, the floo flared and Snape stepped through, not even stumbling on the hearth rug.

“She is waiting for you,” was all he said.

Harry gulped. Snape had already told him that he would be flooing to the Burrow and then from there going to Gringotts. Snape seemed a bit schizophrenic about letting Harry be in the rooms on his own. But then again, Harry wasn’t really up to sitting around dwelling on everything for any longer than necessary and maybe Snape had realised – after seeing what a mess Harry really was – that left to his own devices all Harry would do was panic. 

Wishing Snape would give him some impression of what he was flooing into, Harry grabbed a handful of powder and stepped into the fireplace.

“The Burrow!” he shouted.

Unfortunately he forgot to close his eyes as he spun through the floo network, so when he shot out at the other end, straight into the open arms of a red-eyed Mrs Weasley, he knew for certain that breakfast had been a bad idea.

“Harry!” Mrs Weasley practically screamed, pulling him into a tight embrace. While Harry usually loved hugs from the fiery haired matriarch, right then he had other priorities. He clapped a hand firmly over his mouth, ignored the thick coating already on his tongue and somehow wrestled his way out of her firm grip. He felt guilty when he heard the sounds of protest behind him, but not as guilty as he knew he would feel if he threw up on her floor.

He skidded to his knees in front of the toilet. Harry groaned as the now familiar routine of vomiting began. He hated it. At least it wasn’t necessarily every day now. Yesterday he had just felt nauseous.

But suddenly, it was different. Harry flinched as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. The hand momentarily left, but before he could protest, it was cautiously replaced. 

“It’s okay, Harry. There you go,” Mrs Weasley said softly, rubbing his back as he coughed up a last thing string of bile. 

Harry sat back on the bathroom floor, soaked in sweat and feeling very icky, but thankfully no longer vertiginous.

“Sorry,” he said.

Mrs Weasley gave him a strained smile. “It’s all right,” she said. “Floo travel’s horrible when you’re pregnant. I have a potion for it that you can take before we go to Diagon Alley.”

“But I thought-”

“It’s pretty much just an herbal remedy. Ginny used to have terrible floo sickness and it works on small children as well as pregnant wo- people. It’s gentle enough to be safe.”

Harry still looked sceptical.

Mrs Weasley heaved herself to her feet, “I promise. I used it all the time and it’s definitely still in date. I’ll get it.”

Harry gave up and followed her through into the kitchen, hoping for some water if nothing else, but before he could ask he was handed a cup of greenish grey liquid that smelt sort of like antiseptic. He wrinkled his nose before he could stop himself.

“I feel fine now, Mrs Weasley, honestly.”

Mrs Weasley gave a choked cluck from the sink, where she was finishing some washing up and determinedly not looking at Harry. “We have to go to Diagon Alley soon. That should stop you getting sick again.”

Harry stared down into the murky goo again and wished Snape was there to ask – which was disturbing. In the end though, he didn’t actually like being sick so… he plugged his nose and gulped it down in one. Sticking his tongue out to get rid of the taste, Harry slumped down at the kitchen table and gratefully accepted the pumpkin juice Mrs Weasley handed him. She went straight back to the sink.

Suddenly as uncomfortable as he had been the first time he had appeared (uninvited) at the Burrow, only without the buffer of Ron getting shouted at, Harry scrabbled for something – anything – to say that might alleviate the awkwardness. He knew Mrs Weasley probably didn’t hate him and it didn’t seem as if Ron had written to her, because otherwise surely she wouldn’t have agreed to have him in her house, but Snape hadn’t told him how she had reacted initially. Maybe Snape had had to persuade her...

“I’m really sorry about all of this, Mrs Weasley,” he said. Mrs Weasley whipped round looking shocked. “I honestly didn’t know they’d make you take me and I didn’t want to get you in the middle of all this-”

“Enough of that,” Mrs Weasley said, surging forward. She sighed and sat down next to Harry, nursing a mug. “I didn’t want you to think- I thought you wouldn’t want- You don’t need to apologise, Harry. You never need to apologise.” Harry swallowed as she tucked a flyaway tuft of hair back into his scalp, chuckling as it bounced back up again immediately. 

When Harry still wouldn’t look her in the eye she sighed again and hugged him tight. “I’m the one that should apologise, Harry. I am so sorry we didn’t do more. Arthur and I honestly suspected something, but… I’m so sorry.”

Harry finally looked up, sniffing. “It’s not your fault, Mrs Weasley.”

She laughed sadly, “And it’s definitely not yours.”

Harry had absolutely no idea what to say after that and apparently neither did Mrs Weasley. After a couple of minutes of silence, Mrs Weasley pulled back and patted Harry on the face with a smile. He blushed, but did feel a lot better knowing that she didn’t hate him.

“Would you like some breakfast, dear,” she bustled.

“No thank you, Mrs Weasley,” Harry said. Even with the potion he didn’t think he’d be able to cope with floo travel on a full stomach again.

“Quite,” Mrs Weasley snorted, topping up his juice. “Arthur actually bought the car originally because I couldn’t travel magically when I was pregnant with Bill without getting so horribly sick, he just said it wasn’t worth it. Not that the car was much better. I still can’t believe you portkeyed in your condition. How far along are you, again?”

“Thirteen and a half weeks,” Harry said, remembering the test.

“Ah, it was probably still too early,” she said, settling into her seat, her eyes filling with tears.

“I’m really sorry about the car,” he moaned, his ears burning nearly as much as Ron’s did. He sometimes got waves of guilt when he remembered that he had lost the Weasley’s their car, even though they had been awfully nice about it, considering. Now knowing the story behind it, he almost felt like crying.

Mrs Weasley surged forward and grabbed him into another hug, “It’s all right, dear. Nobody’s cross and – while I’m not denying it was very silly of the two of you – Arthur and I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. He didn’t know why he felt the need to apologise, but he really did. Mrs Weasley stroking his hair seemed to enhance his guilt and inadequacy more than alleviate it, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He just felt so wrong being in her house now that she knew what Uncle Vernon did to him – like he was dirty, or something. The Burrow had always been an escape from the Dursleys and now… it wasn’t. 

They didn’t say much else before it was time to leave. Mrs Weasley kept coming over to pat Harry’s face or hair, but whenever it seemed like she was about to speak again, she just got a pained look and went to potter about somewhere else in the kitchen. Harry sighed. It was the best response he could expect, he supposed, but he did prefer the way Snape just got on with everything and didn’t treat him any different… or at least make him feel any different. 

At quarter to eleven on the dot Mrs Weasley led the way to the floo. 

“Nice and clear, dear,” she reminded him, as he took a pinch of powder and stepped into the fireplace. “And it helps if you close your eyes. I’ll come through straight after, so don’t worry.”

Bracing himself, Harry cried, “Diagon Alley,” and felt the unwelcome lurch as he was whisked off through the network. Between the potion and keeping his eyes tight shut, he didn’t feel quite as horrible as before, but when he shot out into the floo chamber at the Leaky Cauldron, he still sank onto a conveniently located stool and concentrated on his breathing until he felt the comforting presence of Mrs Weasley’s hand once again. He had been so bothered with not throwing up he hadn’t even heard the floo flare.

Mrs Weasley gave him yet another sympathetic smile and pulled him to his feet, “We mustn’t be late,” she said as she supported him through the main bar area, shouting a greeting to Tom the barman, but keeping Harry shielded from the few patrons that were milling around.

Diagon Alley was mercifully clear, as was perhaps to be expected on a Tuesday in November. No one paid much attention to Mrs Weasley walking along and Harry put his experience of acting invisible to good use as he pressed into her side. No one noticed him – or at least, no one stopped him, which was a first in the shopping district.

“I’ll be with you the whole time, dear,” Mrs Weasley said as they hurried along. “But I’m going to have to stay quiet most of the time. The goblins wouldn’t appreciate someone interfering with your account. But I’ll be there if you need anything.”

They walked through the monolithic entrance of Gringotts and Harry was more than happy for the cool echo-y silence that made up the bank’s atrium. It felt as if his head had been ringing constantly now for weeks without him even noticing and it had suddenly been shut off. It was a nice moment of absolute peace.

Momentarily extracting herself from Harry, Mrs Weasley consulted a little piece of parchment that must have been clutched in her hand that entire time and hurried over to a desk virtually hidden behind a pillar. Harry followed closely after her, trying to keep his footfalls as quiet as possible. He came behind her just in time to hear the goblin at the desk directing them to some high backed wooden seats off to the side.

“How are you?” Mrs Weasley enquired, causing Harry to jump as the questioned echoed endlessly up and down the aisle.

Not wanting to set off another sound tornedo, Harry just nodded, although his strained smile probably gave him away. Mrs Weasley squeezed his leg and they sat in silence in the ridiculously uncomfortable chairs.

From the glances Harry managed to sneak at his watch, he knew it was nearly half-past eleven by the time a goblin – who he actually recognised as Griphook, the goblin who had first shown him his vault – came out to collect them, looking murderous yet disinterested while doing so. Harry sighed, resisting the urge to stretch the crick out of his back as he was finally allowed to get up from the torture devices they had been subjected too. An equally stiff Mrs Weasley pushed him ahead of her, so he followed Griphook through the maze of dark corridors into a low vaulted office.

Griphook went to sit at his desk without saying a word, gesturing for them both to sit. Harry supressed a groan when it turned out that these seats were exactly the same as the ones they had just come from. He sat gingerly, hoping his perching on the edge of the monstrosity wouldn’t cause offense – he remembered how prickly the goblins could be. Griphook just smirked at him. 

“Mr Potter,” he said. “So good of you to have come at last. It’s good of you to start to take an interest in your accounts.”

Harry swallowed, “Th- Thank you for meeting with u- me. I know you are very busy and I appreciate you taking time out of your day.”

Griphook inclined his head, but his smirk didn’t lessen.

Harry wracked his brains trying to remember some of what Snape had snapped at him that morning, “Um… M- May your enemies never prosper and your gold always flow.”

Griphook’s smirk suddenly became something approaching a genuine smile. In some ways, it was even more off-putting. Harry grimaced back.

“Well, Mr Potter,” Griphook’s tone was sort of welcoming now. “I am surprised that you are suddenly taking an interest in your finances after all these years.”

“I’m sorry?” Harry said, confused.

“No need. We shall educate you adequately,” Griphook opened a ledger that was so massive it made a loud clunk on the mahogany desk.

Not wanting to annoy the goblin, but needing an explanation, Harry stuttered, “No. I- I mean, what d- do you mean by a- after all these ye- years?”

Griphook frowned, “We have been in contact with you many times since you reached Hogwarts. Before that we were under instructions to keep records sealed. You have been receiving owls monthly with updates of your vaults.”

Harry shook his head, “I never got any owls.”

Griphook’s gaze darkened.

Mrs Weasley jumped in, “Couldn’t there be a charm to redirect Harry’s post? I know lots of people who wanted to write to him when he arrived at Hogwarts, but Ron never mentioned any fan mail getting there.”

‘Fan mail?’ Harry mouthed. 

Griphook nodded, “We shall look into it. If Dumbledore has put such measures in place, he should have informed us.”

He hopped down from his throne-like chair and walked over to a side door. Harry could hear angry sounding instructions being relayed, but as they were all in Gobledigook, he had no idea what was being said. Although, considering the look on Griphook’s face as he went out, that was probably a good thing. 

Harry jumped as Mrs Weasley snaked a hand into his and squeezed. 

“Now that that is settled,” Griphook growled. “We shall get down to business.” He turned to the huge ledger and tapped it with his gnarled fingernail, making it flip to a page near the end. Harry could barely see the goblin over the pile of pages. “What vaults are you aware of?”

Harry blinked. “Uh… Just my vault. The one you and Hagrid took me to.”

“Vault 687. Your Trust Vault,” Griphook stated.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, looking between the two for an explanation.

Mrs Weasley stepped in before Griphook could get annoyed, “It means your parents put money aside for you before you inherited your full estate. That is what you have been getting from your vault.” She looked highly uncomfortable with the entire conversation.

Griphook nodded, “The Potters stipulated that you vault was to be maintained at approximately ten thousand galleons and was to be topped up if it ever fell below that point. Thanks to interest accrued and certain investments, the balance of your Vault 687 stands at fifty thousand six hundred and twenty five galleons. Over the past four years you have withdrawn a total of six hundred galleons, the majority in August last year.”

“I was staying at the Leaky Cauldron,” Harry murmured.

“The Ministry didn’t pay?” Mrs Weasley asked. “The Leaky Cauldron’s expensive in August,” she grumbled. “Especially last minute.”

Harry shook his head. And to think he had been worrying about budgeting that month.

Griphook was already moving on, “Upon reaching your majority, you are entitled to the full Potter family estates, which includes a further six Vaults, drawing varying incomes from  
the Potter family enterprises, such as potions’ patents and investments.”

“Potion patents?” Harry queried faintly.

“Of course,” Griphook explained impatiently, already flicking further into the book. “The Potter family has produced successful brewers going back to the twelfth century. Official patents attributed to the Potters include Skel-Gro, the Pepper-Up Potion and the Blood Replenishing Potions and their further adaptations, although these patents have been diluted to the point where revenue gained from them is negligible. St Mungos pays a small premium to claim integrity of the recipe and avoid any possible scandals should members of the Potter family wish to make a claim, but it is a token fee. The majority of income from recent patents is located in Vault 437, which contains the profits from Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, developed by your grandfather. The patent for that recipe is solid for another fifty years, unless you wish to make a small adjustment to it in the future, at which point the patent shall of course be renewed. We, here at Gringotts, have handled the licencing of the recipe since it was first invented. I trust that arrangement is satisfactory to you, since we of course ensure that the Potter family benefits from the best possible contracts,” Griphook finished with a feral grin.

Harry stared open mouthed for a few seconds. He was a potions heir? It was too much to take in. Someone in his family had invented the potion that pretty much the whole of Hogwarts took at least once a year. And one of his ancestors had made sure he could regrow the bones in his arm… he was connected to them, somehow. But really… potions? 

Hearing a growl from the other side of the desk, Harry pulled himself back to reality. He needed to answer Griphook’s question, “Um… Yeah, that’s fine. The contracts, I mean. I’m sure there couldn’t be anyone better.”

Griphook bared his teeth in a sort of smile, “Very good, Mr Potter.”

Harry hid the shiver that ran up his spine. 

Griphook wasn’t finished. “Then there are your additional Vaults. Bequests and the like made after your defeat of the Dark Lord. It was quite common practice in the subsequent years for families who had been wiped out during the Dark Lord’s reign to leave their worldly possessions to you, the Boy Who Lived.”

“Me?” Harry asked, bemused. Mrs Weasley looked pained again.

“They were grateful, Harry dear,” she said. “You must understand what it meant when you lived and You Know Who died.”

“But… I was just a baby. It was my mum… I didn’t do anything.”

“You lived,” Griphook sneered. “For the masses, it is enough. There are around twenty such Vaults. None with particularly large endowments – the major families always seemed to be able to find some cousin or other somewhere to take over the family name – but in total they amount to around three hundred thousand galleons in additional funds,” the goblin sounded bored by such paltry sums. “We have been keeping these Vaults separate for now to maximise interest, but we can amalgamate them, if you wish,” 

Wishing he could think of anything more intelligent to say than ‘umm’, Harry took a minute before shaking his head, “Maybe later, if that’s all right…”

Griphook gave him a sickly non-smile, “Certainly, sir. The customer’s wish is always followed.” 

Harry and Mrs Weasley exchanged a nervous look. 

Griphook carried on, “As well as Vaults, there is the matter of your properties.”

“I have a house?” Harry asked.

“Several,” Griphook said, not seeming to think it at all strange to tell a fourteen year old in clothes five sizes too big for him that he had multiple houses. “The Potter residences include a manor house in Wales, a flat in London purchased by your father, two additional country properties in Yorkshire and Devon and obviously the cottage in Godric’s Hollow, although that has been claimed by the Ministry as a national monument… without our permission,” the goblin growled. “Then, of course, there is the rent from the Apothecary here in Diagon Alley, which was purchased by your grandfather. Plates and jewels of some possible historical value, although of human and elfish make,” Griphook sniffed. “Some books that have been left over the years, as well as several notebooks sent by your mother to the Vaults when she was in hiding.”

Harry sat bolt upright. “My mum?” he asked, his interest actually piqued for the first time. The money and stuff was just overwhelming. “What’s in them? Why did she put them in a vault?” Mrs Weasley laid a hand on his arm to stop him mid-stream. He had so many questions.

“I do not know, Mr Potter,” Griphook pursed his lips. “I was not associated with your account at the time and even if I had been, it is not within our purview to question wizard’s deposits.”

Aware that he had somehow insulted the goblin, Harry quickly apologised. Griphook waved it off, although when he started going through the book again, he sounded a bit stiffer.

“From your benefactors there are three flats in Diagon Alley, four houses of varying size and condition and another two flats in London. As provision was made in these cases for your not taking possession of them for some time, stasis wards have been placed on them and it would be possible for income to be made from them through rents.”

Harry assumed the goblin meant when Harry came of age, so just nodded.

“The same cannot be said of the Potter properties. Even when your parents were alive, they were left in a state of disrepair for some years, with the exception of the London flat, which I believe was occupied by a Remus Lupin until their deaths, and at the point of leaving he asked for a stasis charm to be placed on it. The other properties will need major renovations before they are habitable. Provision can be made for this to happen and for a small fee Gringotts would be willing to facilitate these works. We would also be willing – if not pleased,” Griphook snarled. “To approach the Ministry over the matter of their unlawful seizing of Godric’s Hollow.”

“When I’m of age,” Harry said. Griphook seemed to be talking as if all this would happen now.

“You are of age, Mr Potter,” Griphook said, uninterested.

“I’m only fourteen,” Harry corrected, assuming that the goblin must have forgotten.

Griphook looked at him, irritation showing in his face – although that might just have been his natural expression, “I am aware of that, Mr Potter, but since you have been chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament, which the Ministry of Magic has declared as only suitable for those students who are of age, you have technically been declared to have reached your majority. Ergo, you have access to your full inheritance.”

Mrs Weasley gasped.

Harry stared. “I’m an adult?”

“Technically.” Griphook stated, turning back to his papers. “You have control of your accounts, certainly. Beyond that, it is up to the Ministry.”

“You can be independent,” Mrs Weasley said. “If you wanted to be.” 

“I- uh…” Harry didn’t know what to say.

“The Potter properties,” Griphook prompted.

Probably seeing that Harry was unlikely to do anything other than gabble, Mrs Weasley leant forward, “Do we have to decide on that now? Maybe Harry could contact you later, when he has had time to think everything through.”

Harry sent her a grateful glance and tried to stop himself hyperventilating. This was all too bizarre for words.

“Certainly,” Griphook said. “You may write to me, as you accounts’ manager, or contact us by floo during business hours.”

Harry took the parchment booklet the goblin handed him, which was full of information about the services Gringotts provided. It was very nicely laid out, but thoroughly creepy, thanks to the presence of drawings of smiling goblins on every other page. Harry looked up from it, his incredulity probably showing.

“The Ministry approved handbook, Mr Potter,” Griphook growled. “But if you have need of any more specialised assistance, don’t hesitate to contact us. Gringotts is happy to help in any way… for a fee.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, stowing the leaflet in his pocket. Listening to Griphook attempt customer service was both terrifying and slightly funny, in a hysterical sort of way.

“I’ll have a copy made of your account information, so you may review it fully,” Griphook said, closing the tome.

“All of it?” Harry asked stupidly. It looked a bit heavy.

Griphook didn’t even bother to look annoyed that time, “The relevant account information, Mr Potter. This holds the Potter accounts going back to the twelfth century when the House was created.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Can I- Would I be able to look through the whole book later… maybe?” It would be interesting to find out more about his heritage, especially since he apparently had a lot of it. He’d never thought much about his family beyond his parents. Even when more relatives had appeared in the Mirror of Erised, he’d been far more bothered with seeing his parents for the first time to pay much attention to them.

“At a later date, Mr Potter,” Griphook said. “Now, is there anything else you need help with? I have other duties I must attend to.”

Cowed, Harry shook his head.

“Would it be possible to make a withdrawal?” Mrs Weasley asked.

Griphook turned to her, “From the Weasley Vault?”

Mrs Weasley coloured, “N- no. Professor Snape mentioned that Harry was in need of clothes. He asked that I take him shopping, so money from Harry’s account would be-”

“Yes,” Griphook said. “Would a withdrawal from Vault 687 be appropriate?” he asked Harry.

No one had mentioned a shopping trip. Thrown, it took Harry a moment to remember that was just his normal Vault. “Yeah. Um… that’s fine. Although, I’m fine… I don’t need anyth-” 

“Professor Snape said you did, dear,” Mrs Weasley insisted, ignoring Harry’s discomfort.

“I’ll have you escorted down to the Vaults,” Griphook got down again, moving to the door.

Harry looked at Mrs Weasley desperately. As much as he usually loved them, he knew he wouldn’t be able to cope with the carts the way he felt at the moment.

Mrs Weasley understood, “I’m terribly sorry, but would it be possible to have the money… picked up for us?”

“Picked up?” Griphook barked. He was baring his teeth again and his eyes had gone especially beady.

Mrs Weasley looked flustered, “Or maybe I could pick up the money for Harry? With his permission?” she looked at Harry, who nodded vigorously.

“And why does Mr Potter not wish to make his own withdrawal?”

“Because… I… I can’t go on the carts at the moment. They’ll make me sick and I... I don’t want to cause a mess.” Or throw up again, he added in his head.

Griphook frowned, “Mrs Weasley is allowed to make the withdrawal is that is what you would prefer, but I seem to remember you enjoying your previous trips on the carts.”

“I… uh…”

“Harry is pregnant,” Mrs Weasley declared. “It hasn’t been reported in the press yet, but he’s pregnant and motion sickness is a problem during early pregnancy.”

Griphook blinked, “I see. Even by human standards, fourteen is… young.”

Harry blushed and looked at his lap. He felt sick. He knew that was going to be most people’s reaction. He was going to have to explain every time, or just have them assume he was definitely a slut.

Mrs Weasley’s grip on his wrist tightened. She said stiffly, “Harry was raped by the man he was living with. Fourteen is young, but there is no fault or need for judgement. Harry is handling this very maturely and he does not need comments.” Harry wanted to hide. He knew Mrs Weasley was being helpful, but he really hated her just blurting out his secrets like that.

Harry held his breath, waiting for Griphook to throw them out. He might not know much, but he knew it was a bad idea to talk to a goblin like that. He just hoped he would still have access to his accounts… maybe the Weasley would let him give them some money if they were cut off from their Vault.

He chanced a sneaky peak through his fringe. Griphook looked… dumbfounded, which was a strange look on the goblin.

Seeing Harry staring at him, Griphook shook himself out of it, “I wondered why Dumbledore contacted us now,” he muttered, reaching into his desk. He pulled out another brochure type thing and handed it over to Harry. It read ‘The Magic of Money Management: How to Give Your Child the Best Start in Life!’ Harry sighed. Yet another thing to think about.

“We will make any arrangements you wish for the next Potter heir,” Griphook intoned, almost gently. “Your funds will be collected. How much would you like to withdraw?”

Harry looked at Mrs Weasley. He’d only ever bought his school supplies. The Dursleys would have noticed if he came back with new clothes and he had thought he needed to budget…

“Fifty galleons should be about right,” Mrs Weasley said, consulting her paper again. “And would it be possible to have it converted to muggle money? We don’t want to draw attention to Harry on the Alley.”

Griphook inclined his head. “Of course.” He again opened the door to relay the message. Once that was done he turned at the door and said, “I shall go and gather your documents. Stay with the child,” he instructed Mrs Weasley and left.

Harry slumped backwards with a sigh. He was nearly as tense around Griphook as he had been when he had been telling Snape…

He sat back up.

“That was interesting,” Mrs Weasley chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a goblin shocked.”

Harry smiled sheepishly. “Thanks,” he said. “Sorry I froze up.”

Mrs Weasley gave him a shrewd look, “That’s what I’m here for dear. No one expects you to go through all this alone.”

Harry shrugged. If that were true someone would have noticed earlier. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t gone through it alone up until now. And if they didn’t expect him to do it alone, why had he been declared an adult? And it wasn’t as if anyone had said anything about where he would be living, or anything. In one of his many houses, apparently. Alone. With a baby. That was his and no one else’s. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat at the image in his head. It was lonely, but… peaceful… maybe… maybe it would be okay, even if he was alone. 

“I didn’t know I had all that,” Harry laughed falsely. It was very strange to him. He still saw himself as the boy under the stairs, even when Ron pointed out how money he had… before all this had come out.

Mrs Weasley looked down, “Yes, well, some families did very well keeping their wealth. Others were not so fortunate.”

Harry blushed again. He hadn’t meant to offend her. “I didn’t mean-”

Mrs Weasley jumped, “No, no, dear. It’s excellent news. And perfect for a young family. You’ll be able to have the life you want. The life you deserve, dear.”

She squeezed his knee again, but he didn’t think he was imagining the tightness of her smile. It was just like Ron looked when he would buy sweets on the train for them. Harry’s  
chest tightened. He was always different…

The door opened and Griphook stepped through. He was carrying a large cloth envelope and a muggle wallet. He walked over to Harry and briskly handed him and envelope. “Your financial and property records,” he said. “Peruse them at your convenience. We shall continue to administer them at the bank’s discretion, details of which are included, but these can be changed at your request. I have included the titles of some books on financial management, if you are interested.”

“Thank you,” Harry said softly. 

Griphook grunted and held up the wallet. “We have converted the funds. It comes to £248.99.” He held up the wallet, which looked completely empty. “When you wish to make a payment, state the amount to the wallet and the correct total will appear.”

Harry blinked. That was a much better idea than stuffing notes and change into his pockets, like Uncle Vernon did (they always fell out in the wash, or got shredded in the machine and then he’d accuse Harry of stealing or sabotage), or putting them in his money bag that already had galleons and sickles in it.

“Three galleons,” Griphook said. “It can be charged to your account.”

Harry hesitated. He wasn’t used to spending money, apart from at the beginning of the school year, “Um… Yeah- yes please. That would be really useful.”

Griphook handed it over, “For five galleons, you can have a money bag linked directly to your Vault, but we must consolidate your accounts first.”

“Sure,” Harry said, at a loss for what else to say.

After a moment, Mrs Weasley said, “Well then, shall we be going? I’m sure you must be very busy.”

Griphook glared, but nodded and stepped back to allow Harry to get up. As Harry rose, black spots danced in front of his eyes and he was forced to sit back down or risk falling. 

He fell back with such a thunk that he was sure he’d bruised his coccyx on the horrible wooden chair.

“Harry!” Mrs Weasley cried, grabbing his face and pulling it up, which didn’t help the dizziness

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, breathing deeply in an effort to regaining his equilibrium. “’think I stood up too fast.”

“You probably need some food, poor lamb,” Mrs Weasley fussed. “This has all been a bit much, hasn’t it?”

Harry endured another couple of minutes of Mrs Weasley’s hovering, but Griphook glowering in the corner – albeit not aggressively, just standard glower – wasn’t exactly comforting. “I’m really fine, honestly,” he said and to prove it stood again, slowly and carefully.

Mrs Weasley gave him a critical look, but in the end he got a nod of approval.

Thanking Griphook again, they followed him out into the corridor, but before they could make their way back to the main entrance, he redirected them.

“The back door to the muggle world is this way.”

“Back door?” Mrs Weasley queried.

“For Ministry and staff use,” Griphook gritted his teeth as they passed a wizard in security robes. “And those who do not wish to be seen. You said you did not want attention.”

Once again, Harry thanked the goblin as they were shown a door that opened onto a dingy side street in Charing Cross. With a final grunt, Griphook swung the door shut behind him.

Mrs Weasley instructed Harry to take off his robe, which he did. Mrs Weasley gasped when she saw him wearing Dudley’s worn out cast-offs underneath. Harry blushed and pulled at the oversized shirt. He had just pulled on the nearest thing that morning, thinking that he would be covered with robes all day, like he usually was in the wizarding world. Whenever he was at the Weasleys, or on weekends at Hogwarts, he always wore the few clothes he owned that fit him and were in relatively good nick – i.e. those that Dudley grew out of too quickly to ruin and Aunt Petunia couldn’t be bothered to take to the charity shop. Fortunately, between the use of Weasley jumpers and everyone being so wrapped up in their own lives, no one had ever questioned the fact that Harry only seemed to own two shirts and one pair of trousers. 

He wished he had had the foresight to wear his nicer clothes, as Mrs Weasley clucked over the stained and threadbare garments that draped over his skinny frame. At least he wouldn’t necessarily need maternity clothes, he thought. 

In the end he was saved from comment, as Mrs Weasley pulled herself together, albeit a little tearful, and with one final crushing hug, she stowed his robes in her bag and transfigured her robes into reasonably muggle attire and they stepped out to a day of shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said at the beginning, I’ve not been very well for the last couple of weeks and between that and work have used up the cushion of chapters I had. Because of this I’m going to wait two weeks before updating next, otherwise I’m not going to be able to keep updating regularly, which I don’t want to happen.
> 
> So, next chapter (with Severus going to Privet Drive. Tum tum tum) will be up 19th October.
> 
> Please Review!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely reviews! I’m all better and everything’s back on track .

Severus stared into the fireplace, where a second before Potter had stood. He knew he probably should have prepared Potter more for what he was walking into, but Severus was, quite frankly, on edge from all the hand wringing he had had to endure that morning. Hopefully the woman had pulled herself together, as instructed. She had certainly looked calmer when she had emerged from the bathroom.

It had not been pleasant informing the Weasleys of Potter’s plight. Both of them felt responsible for what had occurred. The idea of what they had been taking the boy from each year… the fact that the boy had been pregnant when he had stayed with them that summer – and indeed the summer two years ago… Severus had had to employ tact he had not been aware he possessed in order to stop Arthur – who, unfortunately, had not quite left for work when Severus flooed over – marching to Privet Drive immediately and hexing the beasts senseless. It had only been Severus’ promise that they would get what they deserved that placated him… somewhat.

Still, in the end, after the anger and recriminations, it had turned to the inevitable wailing. Molly, who at first had just been relieved that Severus hadn’t arrived to tell her that the twins had finally been expelled, had actually screamed when Severus told her of Potter’s condition, which he thought had been a most unhelpful reaction. After Arthur had calmed himself down, by hexing most of his garden wall to rubble and then repairing it several times over, he did manage to comfort his wife, before he had to leave for work under orders to not let it slip to anyone. The last thing Potter needed was for the Prophet to find out. They would have to deal with that eventually, but other things needed to take priority.

Severus explained the necessity of the trip to Gringotts and Potter’s wardrobe requirements, and then Molly went to wash her face and make herself more presentable. Severus used that time to write the same thing down, as he doubted she had actually taken any of it in. That was what annoyed him about Gryffindors – even when they managed the right sentiment, they generally let emotions get in the way of actually rectifying the situation. It was why he couldn’t just hand the boy over to them lock, stock and barrel immediately.

In any event, by the time Molly was in a fit enough state to actually take Potter – he hoped – Severus was running late, hence his rather perfunctory exchange with Potter. He didn’t have time to feel bad about it… or stand still and feel bad about it.

Severus sighed and moved to his bedroom to find his detested muggle clothes. He loathed the pretence of muggle attire, as it placed him in a world that he had wanted to actually destroy in his youth, thanks to his experiences within it. No matter the expense of the shirts, or jackets he bought for those occasions he was forced to make a foray into muggle society, he couldn’t help but be reminded of his father and their friends as they went out for a night of pub-crawling. 

He looked longingly at the far less obnoxious jeans and jumper, which he just about found comfortable, but he was meant to look professional. Looking in the mirror, he deemed his outfit of a crisp white shirt, green and silver striped tie and tweed blazer with shoulder patches acceptable for his appearance as a teacher from an independent school in Scotland, which was the standard cover for Hogwarts. 

Sighing at his day’s outfit, Snape checked his wand was in his wrist holster and properly hidden and stepped into the floo, shouting, “Ministry of Magic!”

Keeping his resigned countenance intact through the swirling fire-network, Severus stepped out into the teeming atrium with as much decorum as humanly possible. The younger Ministry employees jumped when he appeared, scurrying out of his way, as they remembered him from Hogwarts. The older guard looked at him with mistrust, remembering the fact that he was an accused Death Eater. So many forgot Dumbledore’s testimony in his defence and Severus knew he would by closely watched as long as he was in the building. Ignoring them all, Severus kept his back stiff and brushed away imaginary ash. 

Satisfied with his state, he went over to the lifts and soon found himself at the DMLE. Madam Bones had given him instructions to wait by reception and he was due to meet Kingsley Shacklebolt at quarter past ten. He was four minutes early. He took a seat in the waiting area, staring straight ahead to avoid the double takes that plagued him.

At ten fifteen on the dot, Kingsley came out of the offices. Severus had to consciously stop himself from raising his eyebrows, which he knew the man would not appreciate. Severus had known Kingsley for years, through Dumbledore and the remnants of the Order, but this was the first time he had ever seen him in muggle clothes. Severus felt rather overdressed, next to Kingsley in his dark blue shirt and jacket, worn without a tie, but he immediately brushed that feeling aside as irrelevant. 

What was more startling was that Kingsley had not looked so grave since the end of the first war, as far as Severus could remember. One would have thought that it would be difficult to tell, as the man’s natural demeanour was fairly stoic, but the deep humour that usually resided in his eyes was gone. And he looked, quite frankly, exhausted.

Kingsley strode over to him with his hand outstretched, which Severus stood to receive, in these rooms, a handshake from Shacklebolt would alleviate a lot of suspicion, and on top of that Severus actually liked the man.

“Severus,” Kingsley rumbled, gripping Severus’ hand. “I wish the circumstances were better.”

“Quite,” Severus said as they separated.

“We must go,” Kingsley said, already leading the way out. “According to the muggle police I am some sort of representative for the authorities in Scotland who first reported it and you are, obviously, Harry’s teacher. I don’t know whether this is standard procedure, but the Muggle Liaison Department swears the charms they put in place will hold up the story.”

“Do they know the circumstances?” Severus asked. He didn’t want everyone at the Ministry knowing the situation.

“No,” Kingsley said. “The only people who know are Mrs Abbott, the Head of the WCS, Madam Bones, myself and we had to inform Rufus Scrimgeour, as he had to approve my going.”

“I don’t know Scrimgeour,” Severus frowned.

“He’s a good man,” Kingsley said as they reached the lifts. “He shouldn’t cause a problem.”

Severus scoffed, “I would be more comfortable with ‘won’t’ than ‘shouldn’t’.”

“Some things you have to take on faith,” Kingsley philosophised.

Severus would have argued more, but there were other people in the lift and Kingsley’s eyes were unusually tight. As they stepped into the atrium and over to the public apparition point, Severus pulled Kingsley to one side.

“You know the charm Dumbledore has put in place?”

Kingsley frowned, “The perception charm? I got the message this morning, but I must admit I don’t fully understand.”

“All the muggles we speak to today will remember the boy as a girl. Harry is Harriet, although I think it is reasonable that we refer to him as Harry, as that is a perfectly viable nickname for a girl.”

“Is that really necessary?” Kingsley asked.

Severus huffed, “The fact that he is pregnant is pertinent. We cannot lose that. It is part of the report and muggles will not accept that a fourteen year old boy is magically pregnant, because they do not know that magic is involved.”

“I’m still not sure it’s necessary,” Kingsley said.

“Well I do,” Severus replied, straightening his robes.

“What about the relatives?” Kingsley pressed.

“The same. Dumbledore may alter the spell at a later date, but for now it is the easiest thing. It is not that big a shift, really. He’s just a boyish girl.”

Kingsley still looked sceptical, but allowed them to go over to the public apparition point. Severus would have much preferred to use the more secluded Auror apparition point, but that was reserved for emergencies and their use of it would have led to questions.

Steeling himself for the nightmare that was blind apparition, Severus concentrated as hard as he could on the co-ordinates Dumbledore had given him and hoped Kingsley was doing the same.

They appeared at the end of a painfully ordinary street in a housing estate, with a sign at the end stating that it was Privet Drive. Looking down the street, Severus could see that each perfectly manicured lawn was a reflection of its neighbour. The cars were the same type. The window boxes were similar. There was no real decoration. No real personality. Each house blended seamlessly into the next. The refrain from a song his mother would sometimes sing floated into his head. ‘Little boxes, little boxes, little boxes made of ticky tacky, and they all look just the same’.

The only thing that broke up the seemingly endless monotony was the police cars and crowd of people gathered at a house about three quarters of the way down the street. 

Kingsley cast a quick Notice-me-Not charm over them, so the twittering muggles they approached were none the wiser.

“-Can’t imagine what the police think they’re doing,” one woman said, glaring at the constable guarding the door. There was a group of them standing right at the end of the driveway, craning their necks to try and peek inside and talking in carrying whispers. 

“They really are such nice people,” another of them huffed.

“I bet you anything it’s that niece of theirs,” the third sneered. At least they knew Dumbledore’s spell had worked. “Always in trouble that one. And so scruffy.”

“Didn’t they send her to a reform school?” the first said.

“That’s what I heard,” the third replied. “Some place in the midlands for hopeless cases. Probably done something too awful even for them and now the police are involved.”

“Poor Petunia,” the second said, her commiserations belied by the gleam in her eye at the juice gossip. “I must admit, I was pleased when Petunia told me they had decided against sending her to Stonewall. I always told my Becky to stay away from her.”

Unable to cope with any more, Kingsley lifted the charm and headed up the drive, ignoring the renewed muttering their appearance caused.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt and Severus Snape,” Kingsley announced to the constable. The young man looked a bit confused, but waved them in as soon as Kingsley flashed a blank piece of paper in his face. Severus vaguely remembered something off a television programme in his youth. It had been about a doctor… and time travel… he couldn’t really remember.

They entered the perfect ordinary looking house. The ominous feeling surrounding it was probably in his imagination. A psychosomatic reaction to what secrets he knew it held.

Inside it was a hive of activity, with police swarming in every room. Severus could hear a woman wailing down the corridor and some walrus bellowing upstairs. Severus was amazed they hadn’t heard it before. Probably another accidental feature of Dumbledore’s wards, he mentally cursed.

A plain clothed policeman noticed them, “Can’t believe they can’t hear all that from the street,” he commented. “These new builds have fantastic soundproofing, don’t they.” He looked at them shrewdly and it seemed to dawn on him that they weren’t actually supposed to be there. “Why’d they let you in?”

Kingsley showed him the paper.

“Oh yeah, they mentioned you. The liaison and you must be the teacher,” he shook Severus’ hand. “Surprised you’re here.”

“I had to be in London for a funding meeting,” Severus lied smoothly. “It made sense to make the detour, since Potter would probably appreciate the update.”

The man’s face fell, “Poor thing. Nasty situation. How is she?”

“As well as can be expected,” Severus purred, his eyes darting at the far door, through which he could hear Petunia weeping. 

The policeman nodded gravely and led them into a chintzy living room, covered with photographs of a hideously rotund boy in various states of growth. There was no evidence of Potter at all.

“I’m Detective Inspector Grey,” the policeman said. 

They both nodded at him respectfully.

“We just got here. We contacted Mr Dursley’s work this morning to check if was there – no details of course. Lucky thing too, as they told us that he was taking the morning of after some sort of corporate dinner last night. At least that means we only have one stop.”

“Why have you not arrested them yet?” Kingsley asked.

“Oh, we have,” Grey said. “Immediately. But the man just ran upstairs and locked himself in their bedroom. Might as well let him exhaust himself shouting and dig himself as deep as hole as possible. Might be going for an insanity plea – he keeps banging on about magic and freaks. The woman became hysterical as soon as she heard the charges. A WPC’s trying to calm her down now. Honestly, we only got here a few minutes before you two showed up.”

Severus nodded. At least that confirmed Petunia hadn’t known the full extent of the abuse. As much as he loathed the woman, she hadn’t been that sociopathic as a child, just vindictive. 

“Have you searched the house yet?” Kingsley asked.

“Briefly, before you arrived,” Grey said. “One of the constables found a pair of rubber gloves hidden in the spare room, which tallies with Harriet’s statement.”

“Harry,” Severus said. “H- she prefers Harry.” It would be far too confusing otherwise. 

Bob shrugged, “That’s basically all the physical evidence of the rapes we’re likely to find here. Honestly, I’m surprised he was stupid enough to leave those there, but I don’t think he’s the sharpest tool in the box. Honestly, though, there’s not much evidence of another child other than the Dursley’s son here at all. If I hadn’t been told, I would have said this was a three person family.”

“Have you looked in the cupboard?” Severus asked. He could see the door, complete with vent, locks and a deadbolt through the living room door. He couldn’t look away, trying to figure out how much space might be in there. He shuddered.

Grey and Kingsley both stared at the gloomy, slanting little door as well.

“Not yet,” Grey admitted, forcing his eyes away. “We’ve searched the upstairs bedrooms and the difference between Harry’s room and the rest of them is disgusting. We’ve photographed the outside of the house, and there is evidence of the bars being ripped off. We’re also going to ask the neighbours about it – place like this, it must have caused gossip. There are the locks on the door that were mentioned, as well. But, there is adequate furniture in there and while it’s a bit bare, it’s perfectly liveable for a teenager. It’s the inequality between that and their son’s room that’s vile.”

“The boy had both rooms until he was eleven. Until then, Harry’s room acted as storage for broken toys,” Severus sneered.

“I read the notes,” Grey snapped.

Kingsley laid a hand on Severus’ shoulder, as a silent warning to back off. He wasn’t even technically supposed to be there.

“Sorry,” Grey said. “I hate cases like this. My kids are about that age and the idea that someone could do that to a child under their own roof…”

“I understand,” Severus said. “And I should apologise also.”

Grey waved it off, “We were about to open the cupboard when you arrived.”

“Shall we,” Kingsley gestured.

Severus wrinkled his nose, but followed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see.

Grey stepped over to the door and – after calling over a woman with a camera – proceeded to turn and pull aside the three locks. Severus scoffed at the overkill. 

The door swung open to reveal a seemingly innocuous, standard suburban cupboard, filled with old shoes and cleaning supplies. Absolutely no evidence of a child living there for nearly ten years. If Severus hadn’t heard Potter’s testimony, he would never have suspected that the cupboard could have ever been used for any other purpose.

Grey climbed into the cupboard, pushing out the cleaning supplies as he went. “You could fit a child’s camp bed in here. Not much else. Did she say what she slept on?” he asked Severus.

“No,” Severus croaked. The room – if you could call it that – was tiny. Grey could only crouch in it. At the tallest end, he possibly could have got away with bending double. With the incline in the ceiling created by the stairs, only half the space was available. Severus remembered how tiny the boy had been when he had first stepped into the Great Hall. By far the smallest first year. The Weasley boy had towered over him. It was like his body had adapted to living in such cramped quarters. And the boy said he was put in here most of the time when not at school or working.

Kingsley had knelt down outside the cupboard and was trying to organise the detritus that now filled the space, so they could see what was inside. A bare light bulb sputtered to life and Severus could see a fuse box on the bare wall above where the bed had surely been. Grey was rummaging around on the floor, without any semblance of order, while the woman continued to photograph everything.

Grey froze in the middle of his frenzied delving and slowly lifted up his hand. He sighed and held it up the camera. It was a plastic horse, with a knight broken at the waist riding it.

“It matches some toy knights on the dresser in the bedroom. She must have forgotten it,” Grey said as he heaved himself up, just about able to stand double, as Severus had suspected. He turned to exit; Grey lifted his head as he was facing the stairs and froze again. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed loudly and waved the photographer inside. She paused momentarily, before lifting her camera and snapping several photographs of the underside of the stairs.

When the space was empty, Kingsley and Severus exchanged a glance, before both sticking their heads into the cupboard to see what had caused the reaction. There, on the chipboard, dusty underside of the stairs, were the sloppily carved words “Harry’s Room”. It really had been the child’s home.

Even though Severus had known what they were walking into, he still felt sick. He stepped out of the… he couldn’t call it a room and retreated back to the living room doorway. Just a few seconds with his head in there and the door open had left him feeling claustrophobic.

“Stuffy in there, isn’t it?” Kingsley commented. His eyes were so sad as he joined Severus away from Potter’s prison.

“I always hope they exaggerate,” Grey breathed. “I know they don’t, but I always hope. I’ll have it searched thoroughly to make sure nothing’s missed, but I’m not expecting much. That’s enough to confirm the story, though.”

“There was doubt?” Severus bit out.

Grey held up his hands, “No, but it never hurts to have evidence. I know she’s your student and all, and I understand why you’re upset, but if you can’t stay calm, you’re going to have to go outside.”

Kingsley nodded his agreement. Severus narrowed his eyes at the implication that he didn’t have control of his emotions, although at that moment he could practically feel them physically swirling in his gut.

Just then, at exactly the worst time, right when Severus most wanted to hurt someone, heavy footsteps echoed round the landing above them. In the drama of the cupboard, none of them had noticed the shouting had stopped.

Kingsley grabbed his arm, as his own hand twitched to his wand holster. The warning look was not as heated as it would normally have been, but it was still there. Severus didn’t care. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone so badly since his early days as a Death Eater… and he had taught the Weasley twins for five years. Every fibre of his being itched to eviscerate the man who had abused Lily’s son so – who had purposefully tortured an innocent little boy.

In the end, though, as the walrus of a man thumped onto the ground floor, Severus needed to do nothing. Just as Severus was able to get a good view of Potter’s tormentor – just as he was about to shake Kingsley off and grab his wand – a banshee like shriek emanated from the kitchen and all three men were shoved aside by a peroxide blonde stick, who flew at the obese man and started clawing at his face.

“Pet! Petunia! What are you doing!?” the walrus cried. 

“You-! You-! You monster,” she screeched between hits, squirming against the police officers who were attempting (not very hard) to pull her off. “How could you!? Disgusting- horrible- hate-” with a final sob she went limp and collapsed. A young policeman managed to catch her just before she hit the floor.

Her husband just stood there with his mouth gaping under the ridiculous, bushy moustache, with trails of blood slipping from the scratches on his bulbous cheeks. “But, Pet, I had to stamp it out of her, Pet,” he whined. “We agreed. We had to stamp the freak out of her. It was the only thing that worked.”

Kingsley’s grip on Severus’ arm redoubled at that statement, and Grey seemed to be shaken out of his stupor.

“Get them to the car,” he snarled. “Now!”

With that, both of them were unceremoniously dragged out of the door, Petunia crying all the way, while Vernon Dursley gabbled away about how reasonable his actions had been. Severus and Kingsley followed. Kingsley never once let up his grip on Severus, forcibly keeping his hand away from his holster, even as the Auror’s hand continuously crept towards his own.

“Petunia, what happened?” one of the delighted twitterers cried. 

Petunia was too busy keening to pay any attention to them. Between that and Vernon Dursley yelling that they had no right to arrest him as his taxes paid for the police, it really was quite a sight. The crowd of neighbours swelled even further, as Mr and Mrs Dursley were shoved into separate police cars. It was a shame, really. Severus would have really adored a chat with his childhood friend. Maybe another time.

After they were driven away, Grey turned to Kingsley and Severus, “We’re going to question the neighbours. Do you want to stay or-”

“We’ll stay,” Severus interrupted. He wanted to make sure they didn’t miss anything.

Kingsley frowned at him, but nodded his agreement. “You should know we overheard those women talking about Harry. They assumed that you were here to discuss hi-er. They’re convinced that… she’s a criminal of some sort.”

Severus continued, “They have apparently been told that Potter is a criminal at a reform institution,” he rolled his eyes. “Hogwarts is an independent free school, which her parents put her down for when she was born. There are many things one could say about Harry Potter, but criminality is not among them.”

Grey groaned, “We’ll see how much we can get them to say.”

“Lots, I’d imagine,” Severus said, pursing his lips at the delighted crowd. “This’ll fuel their gossip for weeks.”

Kingsley and Severus hung back as Grey went over to organise his subordinates around the interviews.

“I still can’t get my head round this perception spell,” Kingsley admitted.

“Just try to keep to neutral prepositions, or his given name and you’ll be fine,” Severus drawled. 

“I don’t see why it’s necessary.”

“Maybe not now. It will be later. Dumbledore was right – it needed to be put in place now, or there would be too many holes to shore up further down the line,” Severus reasoned, knowing that the invocation of Dumbledore would be enough to convince the Auror, at least outwardly.

As the onlookers began to hive off for their interviews, Grey gestured for them to follow him. Severus was pleased to see that he had chosen Gossip Number 2 – the one who had been so worried about her daughter.

“Mrs Midgley, Number 3 just opposite,” Grey muttered to them. “Says she’d be more comfortable in her own house, after all the excitement.”

Severus smirked as Grey rolled his eyes.

The Inspector continued through his teeth, “They were all more than happy to cooperate, of course. Couldn’t wait to tell us all about the Dursleys and that dreadful Potter girl.” The man clenched his fists as he said that. Even without meeting him, Harry Potter had him firmly on side.

They entered a house identical to the one opposite, even down to the colour coordinated window boxes. Severus wondered if they had meetings to decide the colour theme for that year. Thinking about what he remembered of Petunia and observing the high pitched flapping of the woman in front of them, he somehow believed it.

Once inside, they were led past another cupboard under the stairs, thankfully without locks. Severus almost wanted to search it, though, just to make sure. Mrs Midgley scampered through the hallway and into the kitchen at the end of the narrow gangway and immediately put the kettle on and started rummaging for biscuits. The three men followed at a sedate pace.

“Please, sit down,” she insisted. They obliged. Severus stared distastefully around the overly clean, overly decorated room. He had known her type when he was young: knowing that people would probably look in through her window, because she did it to them. It wasn’t that nosy gossips didn’t exist in the wizarding world, it was just that they all knew of the possibility on privacy charms… and generally things were furnished with a view to longevity, custom and comfort, over and above the latest fashion. 

An artfully arranged tea service was laid at the table, and Severus was forced to take a sip of overly sweet tea from an ornate, but cheap, china teacup for the semblance of politeness and chose the least crumbly, stale biscuit he could. The things he did for Potter.

“Thank you, Mrs Midgley,” Grey smiled and took a long drag of tea.

Kingsley and Severus exchanged a look that Severus took as his cue to stay quiet.

“Now, Mrs Midgley,” Grey said, putting down his cup. “What could you tell us about the Dursley?”

“Well,” the woman gasped, leaning forward. “Their son has always been a bit too rough, in my opinion. My Becky always said he could get a bit carried away in the playground, although he was always very nice to her. Far be it from me to cast aspersions on another’s parenting, but I always felt Petunia let him run a bit wild. Although, poor dear, she always did have her hands full with that niece of hers. Overall, I’d say they are a nice family, though. Always very polite when we saw them in the supermarket, and they always kept their lawn nice and neat. I can’t imagine why you would be arresting them? Some kind of insider trading?” she hazarded. “Or a problem with the niece? I swear, anything that girl has done, the Dursleys will be just as shocked by it as anyone. Can’t cope with her one bit. Hooligan if ever there was one.”

Severus’ grip tightened so much on his teacup that he was surprised it didn’t break. Apart from almost cracking a tooth through gritting his teeth, though, he didn’t react. He contented himself with imagining the effects of various mass poisonings on the community. Kingsley’s wand hand was definitely twitching. 

Grey cleared his throat. “What could you tell us about Harriet, Mrs Midgley?”

She pulled a face, “They never deserved her,” she said. “No one would have. Just arrived without a by your leave and a bad ‘un from that moment.”

“She was one when she arrived?” Grey pressed, bemused.

“That’s right,” she said. “Same age as my Becky. You can tell though. Never smiled. Always filthy. Not normal for a baby to be like that.”

“She could hardly be held responsible for her personal hygiene at that age, though, surely?” Grey asked, a sip of tea and benign smile taking so much of the edge of his words that the foolish woman didn’t seem to notice the real meaning.

“Petunia did try. She always would say that she just didn’t look right in her clothes the way Dudley did. And whenever we’d see her – even at the park – she’d just stand there behind Petunia, face like a wet fish, while Dudley went and played like a normal child should. Gave me the willies,” she shuddered. “What’s she done? Must be bad.”

“How often did you see Harriet?”

Mrs Midgley frowned. “Not often. At school pick up and the like, I suppose.”

“Not on the street?”

“As if. Everyone knows to avoid her. Petunia warned us of her thieving. Got it from her father, apparently. No good wretch. Scourge on a good family, even from beyond the grave. Was that it? Did she get caught with her hand in the wrong biscuit tin?” she was positively salivating with the possibilities. 

“No,” Grey deadpanned. His patience was clearly wearing thin, although somehow the woman didn’t see it. “So you never saw her playing?”

“Wasn’t interested,” she leant back and folded her arms, disappointed that they weren’t giving up the goods. “Like I said, face like a wet week. I think it’s called emo or something. Probably thought she was being ‘cool’.”

“Do children generally avoid playing outside here?”

She laughed, “Of course they go out! Can’t keep them in when the weather’s fine. They’re all out. It’s one of the advantages to living here, you know. You won’t find a safer place for children. I said to my Rodney when we moved in, it would be a haven for our future progeny. I was pregnant at the time, you see. Couldn’t wait-”

“Didn’t you ever find it strange that Harriet didn’t join in with the other children?” Grey interrupted.

She frowned as her story was cut off, “Not at all,” she snapped. “We always told our kids to stay away from her. There was something just not right about her. Petunia always said she didn’t know what to do about it. I honestly think they were afraid of her. Well… there must be something wrong with a child to make her family think like that. I always said to my Becky to cross the road if she saw the Potter girl out alone. You should hear some of the stories of what she got up to at school – climbed on the roof at one point. Pure vandalism. Deserved prison even then. Always said she could have done with a good spanking – not that I generally approve of that sort of thing – but Petunia always insisted on soft parenting.”

Kingsley stood abruptly, knocking over his teacup. The clatter seemed to shock him enough that he noticed the wand in his hand and slipped it back up his sleeve before the muggles noticed anything amiss. Severus slipped his own wand back past his fingers and into its holster, but kept it slightly out and a close watch on Kingsley. As much as he wanted to hex the woman too, it would cause far more paperwork than it was worth.

“Forgive me,” Kingsley muttered, moving to mop up the spilt tea. “Leg cramp.” He lowered himself back into his chair as Mrs Midgley fussed around with paper towels. Soon they were all settled again.

“So you never saw her out?” Grey picked his line of questioning back up.

Mrs Midgley took a deep sigh, “Petunia would sometimes manage to catch the rascal and set her to tending the lawn. Best thing for her, really. Hard work. Taught her some values. Other than that… Petunia always did say she could hardly ever get her to leave her room. Honestly, I think Petunia was glad to see the back of her. The whole family get so depressed when they have to go and pick her up. As I said, much too good for the likes of her.” she folded her arms again.

“I see,” Grey demurred. “You seem to have a very high opinion of Mrs Dursley.”

Mrs Midgley shrugged, “Nice woman. Always remembers Becky’s birthday without me needing to remind her. And she puts on such a brave face whenever that girl’s humiliated her.” 

Grey nodded, keeping his eyes firmly down. From where he was sitting, Severus could see how tight the muscles in his neck were, but apart from that he was covering his anger very well. For a muggle, he would make a good occlumens. “And Mr Dursley?”

She cocked her head, “Can’t say I know him that well. We say hello, but other than that… Rodney plays golf with him sometimes. Nice enough man. Bit brash, but has to be really. Petunia will tell you otherwise, but he’s basically a salesman. My Rodney’s a lawyer,” she preened. 

“I see,” Grey said. He paused, before slowly taking up the more delicate questioning. “Did you ever see any bruises on Harriet?”

Mrs Midgley narrowed her eyes, “Bruises? Why would there be bruises?”

“Did you ever see any injuries on her?” Grey pressed.

Mrs Midgley looked at all three of their grave faces out of the corner of her eye, “Can’t say that I did. Can’t say I looked at her closely. Not much to see. But I would have remembered something like that, I’m sure.”

“Is it possible something could have been hidden under her clothes?”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” she said dismissively. “Always looked like she was wearing a sack. No decorum. I doubt it, though. Petunia and Vernon just aren’t the sort, like I said. Whatever she’s been saying, it’s a pack of lies.”

Severus kept his neutral expression with the constant reminder that she was only working off the information she had. It was helped by the niggling thought that he might have said the same thing even two days ago.

“We have a report here that says Harriet is rather underweight,” Grey ventured, now that she had caught on, at least partly, to why they were there. “Did it ever strike you as odd that she was so thin, when the rest of the family is rather…”

“Fat,” Mrs Midgley cackled. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s got an eating disorder, or something. You hear about girls like that. Not my Becky, of course, but you hear… Yes, Petunia puts on a very good spread. She never could curb her husband’s appetite, and I suppose she let Dudley pick up bad habits. No. I can’t say it did strike me as odd. She always was a scrawny little thing, but if I supposed anything it was that she is Petunia’s niece after all. You saw Petunia. Never an ounce of fat on her. I often say that husband of hers hoovers it all up,” she cackled. “Anyway, it’s rather sad, but she is rather sickly. That’s why she was off school so much,” Severus made a mental note of that. “Petunia didn’t want to say, but in the end admitted that her sister drank while she was pregnant. Not her fault, of course, but she was so depressed about that layabout husband of hers – the one that was driving drunk – anyway, you hear how that effects babies. She’s probably just a result of that. Like I said, I don’t doubt she’s just been telling tall tales.”

At the end of that self-satisfied little monologue, Severus saw red. The simmering anger he had been containing since all this had begun bubbled to the surface. He couldn’t contain himself anymore. How dare she talk about Lily that way! Lily a drunk – it was absurd. She had only occasionally indulged in even mead, as far as he knew, and she certainly always steered clear of hard liquor. Even James Potter, for all his sins, did not deserve to be so maligned from beyond the grave. And had these lies been fed to Potter? Had he grown up believing his parents to be worthless boozers?

Severus jumped to his feet, “Lily Potter was not a drunk!” he proclaimed, his occlumency shields in shatters at his feet.

“And how would you know,” Mrs Midgley said, with a good impression of a sneer. 

“I knew her, that’s how,” Severus said. “She and Petunia both. Lily was a good woman.”

“You knew her mother?” Grey asked, confused.

“In school,” Severus admitted. “We lost touch before their deaths. I did not get on with her husband, so we lost contact…”

“I thought Harriet went to her parents’ school…” Grey said.

“I took up the post as… chemistry professor there soon after I graduated.”

“You teach at a reform school,” Mrs Midgley sounded overjoyed at the scandal of having a teacher of criminals in her kitchen. Severus was only too happy to correct her.

“I teach at a prestigious independent school in Scotland. Very exclusive,” he smiled through his teeth. “Petunia Dursley has not changed since she was a scratty little chit, overcome by jealousy for her sister-”

“Severus,” Kingsley caught him. “Let’s wait outside.” Without giving him a chance to respond, the larger Auror got hold of Severus’ arm and forcibly dragged him out of the front door, depositing him in the front garden. “Stay here,” he commanded with a glare, before turning round and going back inside. 

Severus resisted the urge to kick a particularly ugly garden ornament. It was supposed to be some sort of abstracted gnome, he thought, but who really knew. It was a clump of badly thrown clay and substandard paints that had been plonked on the lawn of a family who thought they were being avante-garde or ironically kitsch by doing anything that was in some way different to the multitudinous mediocrity surrounding them. Severus hated muggles. 

Taking a deep breath, Severus was just about able to put a lid on his fit of childish rage. He knew he shouldn’t have interfered in there and now he had been put outside like a misbehaving pet. It was all most frustrating. A cold breeze blew down the now nearly empty street – the other onlookers must have been giving similar interviews to the one he had witnessed – and Severus wrapped his arms round himself, wishing he had had the foresight to bring a coat. 

He suddenly remembered that it was November. Winter was approaching. He found it hard to believe that it was nearly exactly thirteen years ago that Potter had been dumped on the doorstep opposite from him. The baby – who had just lost everything he knew and loved – must have been freezing. Severus shivered in sympathy for the child, many years after it was due. He remembered that night vividly, as did any magical being who had been old enough to be aware. Most celebrated. Some had cried. Some had panicked. Some hadn’t dared believe it was true. 

He had hidden in his rooms with a bottle of firewhiskey and demanded not to be disturbed for the following three days, his thoughts entirely occupied with the fact that Lily had died and it was all his fault. Thoughts of the child – Lily’s child – had not entered his head. Beyond holding him up as a symbol of redemption, he doubted Harry Potter had been really thought of much at all as he lay on that freezing stone step, awaiting a life time of cruelty, beyond being a symbol of the redemption wizarding Britain so badly needed.

Part of him wanted to re-enter that morally squalid place again. To examine the life of non-existence the boy had been subjected to. To wallow in his own guilt for believing Dumbledore when he said the boy was well treated. But he doubted they would let him past the door without Kingsley’s magic credentials.

His macabre train of thought was cut off as Kingsley exited the house once more and came over to him.

“I thought you’d be causing trouble,” Kingsley rumbled, a shadow of his usual humour shining through.

Severus rolled his eyes, “I do have some control.”

“I noticed,” Kingsley said sarcastically.

“I wasn’t the one reaching for my wand,” Severus pointed out.

Kingsley didn’t even bat an eyelid, “Given half a chance… I do understand, though. She really is a vile woman.”

“Welcome to Privet Drive.”

Kingsley nodded his agreement and sighed. Neither of them belonged here among the ordered hedges. How Potter hadn’t gone raving mad, even without the abuse, was anyone’s guess.

“I couldn’t listen to anymore,” Kingsley admitted. “Grey’s getting more and more pointed about the Dursley’s being abusive and she just keeps hammering on that Harry must be making it up. I don’t know if he’s going to outright tell her about the rape, but I’d rather read the report than listen to any more than I have to. The Dursleys have been arrested smoothly, and the muggles are taking it seriously. Beyond that, this is a muggle matter now, apart from if they need to speak to Harry.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Severus said. He didn’t want the boy to be put under any more strain than was inevitable. Hopefully the moron would just plead guilty and that would be the end of it. He certainly hadn’t seemed to be denying anything in the house.

“Well, we might as well be getting back,” Kingsley sighed. 

“Hardly,” Severus intoned. “I wish to see the teacher.”

“Teacher?” Kingsley asked, sounding extremely tired.

“Yes, the one who ignored Potter when he first came forward.”

“Severus… the muggles are taking care of that. I understand why you want to see them, but what good will come of it? It’s not as if we can do anything and, quite frankly, just standing there, having to listen, knowing I can do nothing about what these people are saying, is just masochistic.”

All reasonable arguments. “I wish to speak to her,” Severus replied. “The muggles need not know, but I want to hear from her own mouth how she could ignore a child who came to her for help.”

Kingsley looked as if he was about to argue, but after a moment he must have seen something in Severus’ demeanour that made him see that he would not be swayed. Severus could feel himself practically shaking with anger. He needed to blame someone and – since the Dursleys had both been taken away before he had a chance to annihilate them – the teacher was it.

“Fine,” Kingsley said in the end. “But you are not to curse her, or harm her in any way… and if it comes to it, I will do the obliviating. Merlin knows what the Ministry would do if you were caught at it.”

Severus smiled a feral smile as the Auror led the way back to the shadowed corner from which they could apparate.

…

Pleased that he had managed to bully the coordinates of Potter’s primary school out of the old coot, Severus sidled up to the gate. Kingsley followed, muttering a litany of reasons this was a bad idea. They pushed through the entrance of the idyllic suburban playground, complete with a climbing frame, a gravel area for wet and field for fine, and into the pristine building.

“Can I help you?” the polite, but fed up looking receptionist asked.

“Severus Snape and Kingsley Shacklebolt. May we speak to Mrs Baxter, please,” Severus said in his silkiest voice. He hoped the woman was still there.

“May I ask what this is about?” the woman asked, taken aback by their names, but already reaching for the phone.

“A former pupil of hers. Harry Potter,” Severus purred.

“If she’s teaching at the moment we can come back,” Kingsley suggested, looking hopeful. “Afternoon classes must have started by now.” Severus looked out at the empty playground and then at the clock. He hadn’t realised how long they had spent at Privet Drive. And he hadn’t been able to eat that morning – Potter’s case just made his stomach twist. He hoped they would be offered some refreshment.

The receptionist pointed at the noticeboard by the door, “Mrs Baxter was promoted to Head last year,” she smiled. “She really has always been so good for the school.” Kingsley looked disappointed. 

Severus sneered. He hoped her fall from such a height would hurt. She deserved it. She could have saved the boy when no one else was there to.

The receptionist put the phone, “She’s free at the moment, if you’d like to go through. Her office is the first door on the right at the top of the stairs.”

They both nodded their thanks with varying enthusiasm and made their way up the stairs.

Severus knocked on the door labelled ‘Headmistress: Jane Baxter’.

“Come in,” a sycophantic voice trilled.

They entered.

A middle aged woman, with badly dyed black hair and an ill-fitting skirt suit rose from behind the desk and pointed at the worn seats opposite.

“Sit,” she ordered, not smiling. As he sat, Severus noticed a tray of biscuits on the side cabinet, but she made no move to offer them any. “Charlotte said this was about Harriet Potter? What is your interest?” she sounded suspicious.

“Harry is a student of mine,” Severus honestly said.

“At the reform school?” 

“No,” Severus drawled.

She raised her eyebrows, “But Petunia said-”

“Petunia lied,” he said in a frighteningly evil tone. It was the voice he used when he wanted to intimidate a student in detention. Neutrality was so much more threatening than outright anger, he had found over the years. People tended to react more when they didn’t know what they were reacting to. He allowed himself a small smirk as she shivered in her seat.

She lowered her shoulders, “What is the problem?”

“Problem?” Severus asked, feigning confusion. “Why would you think there is a problem?”

“Why else would you be here?” she pointed out, not altogether unreasonably, but then she ruined it by following it up with, “And whenever the Potter girl’s concerned there’s trouble.”

“Really, how so?” Severus was grateful Kingsley was staying quiet, although how far the Auror would allow him to go was anybody’s guess.

“You’ve taught her. You must know.”

“Indeed…” let her make of that what she will.

She perked up immediately, “Well, I mean, I never have had anything against pupils who are stupid. Some of them just can’t help it,” she sat back with a prim, superior purse of the lips as Severus was forced to acknowledge the truth of that statement – no matter which way he looked at it, Crabbe and Goyle junior were natural dunderheads if ever there were. He wouldn’t have put Potter in that category, though, however hard he had tried to see the bad in the boy. 

“A stupid child I can handle. It’s the lazy ones I hate,” she snarled.

Severus raised his eyebrows. He himself would have classed Potter as lazy, but as much as had had every cause to loath the spawn of James Potter, he had been honest when he had said he didn’t hate the boy. How could this woman, for whom Potter had been no more than a mere pupil among many, claim to hate the child with such vehemence?

“It is disrespect that gets me,” he supplied, hoping she might take up the line of conversation and elucidate on her feelings.

She snorted, “That too. And I only had to deal with the brat for one year… directly.”

Severus and Kingsley exchanged a look as she was preoccupied in finding a tissue. It was funny – certainly not amusing – how everyone seemed to assume as a norm that they would be there to disparage Potter. Even without Dumbledore’s perception charm, the attitude of these people was warped. 

“Was there anything specific you wished to discuss,” she asked briskly.

Severus pondered for a moment what angle to take this from. A stray comment from Mrs Number 3 floated across his mind. “We have reason to worry about Harry’s attendance record. We were told that started when she was here. Is that correct?”

She snorted again, “Yes.” She rose from her seat and went over to a large filing cabinet. “We keep pupil records for ten years, just to be on the safe side.” She rifled through them for a few seconds, before pulling a thick file out. Severus gulped. He hoped the perception charm worked on older written documents. Mrs Baxter didn’t bat an eyelid. “Harriet Potter. In Year 6 she was absent a total of fifty four days. That’s slightly more than most years, but it was usually around forty to fifty days a year.”

“Did that raise any concerns?” Kingsley asked.

She shrugged, “We called the relatives, of course. Petunia told us how her sister had been during the pregnancy – drunk,” Kingsley pre-emptively grabbed Severus’ arm. “She always did look sickly, although… I don’t know. We always suspected that she was just skiving. Lazy thing, like I said. Petunia did her best, but there were just days where she couldn’t get the girl in. It’s all down as an authorised absence. I didn’t want to cause any more problems for Petunia than she already had, you see.”

“I see,” Severus said in a low voice.

“Is she truanting with you too?”

“No.”

She frowned. Severus fixed her with his most inscrutable gaze.

“What were the other problems you experienced with Potter?” he asked after a moment.

“Could you tell me what exactly the problem is?” she asked, sounding worried now. “And who exactly are you?” she pointed at Kingsley. “And Petunia has no reason to lie to me.”

“Quite,” Severus growled. “You hated Potter anyway. Why is that?” he cocked his head to one side and kept his eyes wide. He knew the effect would be… disconcerting.

Mrs Baxter paled. “I’d like you to leave.” She staggered to her feet and ran to the door, but a silent locking charm meant that her efforts, however frantic, were for naught.

After a good thirty seconds of rattling the door handle, she turned back to the pair, looking terrified. 

“Let me out,” she said.

“Not until we get some answers.”

Seeing exactly how frightened the woman was and not quite having Severus’ sadistic reserves, Kingsley attempted to be placating, “Please, sit down. I promise we shan’t be long. Some issues have come up regarding Harry’s wellbeing and we just want to talk to you about it.”

“Let me out,” she repeated.

“No,” Severus said, glaring Kingsley into submission as it looked as if he was about to be nice to her again. After a second, Kingsley shrugged and settled back into his seat, humming. He didn’t have that much sympathy for her after all.

Severus just fixed her with the same scowl he did stubborn students. She held out for longer than he would have given her credit for, before she realised resistance was futile and slunk back to her seat, rather more shaken than she had been.

“How did you do that?” she quavered. “How did you lock the door? I watched you when you came in, there was no way.”

“There’s always a way.”

The breath visibly caught in her throat, but she said nothing else.

Severus counted to ten as he let her stew.

“I told you I wished to talk to you about Potter. Would you like to know why?”

She nodded.

Severus smiled a humourless smile, “She came to me two days ago. She had some claims about the conditions in which she lived with the Dursleys. We were wondering if you might enlighten us as to your observations.”

Mrs Baxter stared at them dumbfounded for a second and then threw her head back and laughed. She laughed so hard and for so long that Kingsley actually made to get up and check that she was all right. Severus put a hand out to stop him. Apart from that he was completely unmoved.

She finally got her breath back, “Is that all?” she coughed. “I’m sorry you’ve wasted your trip.”

“Wasted?” Severus asked. Even as brittle as the woman seemed, he had expected some negative reaction to the accusation…

“Yes,” she said, taking a sip of water from a glass already on her desk. “You should know by now Mr Snape-”

“Professor,” he corrected automatically.

She waved that aside, “-Harry Potter is a born liar and troublemaker. Always has been. I’m surprised it’s taken her this long for her to try and get you lot on her side. You’d think she’d have learnt by now.”

“Indeed,” Severus said, his voice as tight as his fist that was clenched under the table.

“You should have seen some of the things she got up to here…” the woman sneered. “She actually dyed my wig blue once. Right there, in the middle of class. Disruptive little beast. Didn’t like that I was actually trying to discipline her. Her lower years teachers had warned me, you see – you could never trust her when she was being quiet, always in the middle of something. I knew she must have been up to something and as soon as I started telling her to pull her finger out, my hair was blue. Oh… I could have slapped her – didn’t, of course, so don’t let her tell you otherwise. Petunia told me she’d found some blue powder in her bedroom… must have stolen it.”

“How did she get the dye into your hair?” Kingsley asked innocently.

She shrugged, “Must have blown it. All I know is that from then on all the children knew I wear a wig. It took me years to get my authority back,” she waggled her shoulders in indignation, rather like a pigeon might.

“I see,” Severus purred.

“And then there was the time she landed on the roof. That was before I got her, but I knew what I was getting into. She actually had the gall to claim that a gust of wind caught her. I know she was small, but she really must have thought we were stupid,” she snorted. “Petunia and Vernon both came in that time. They grounded her, of course, but she just went and made up an illness to get out of the chores they set her. Got out of going to school as well, so we couldn’t punish the blighter. Petunia was most apologetic, but the girls a good actress – well, you know now – and they didn’t want social service coming round if they sent her to school when she seemed sick.”

“I see,” Severus said again.

“We punished her, of course, when she came back. It takes longer than two weeks to forget something like that. Don’t tell her I said this, but I do think Petunia spoiled that girl.”

“Really?” Severus asked. “And Dudley.”

She waved that away, “Dudley was easily distracted, and I admit he could be a bit of a handful, but he was always so sweet. Bringing me little presents and always with a smile. He was always so embarrassed by his cousin. I did feel sorry for him. Reputation is so important to young people and to be associated…”

Severus could feel his nostrils flare with the deep breaths he was taking to aid his occlumency. “We have heard some rumours there were fights between the cousins?”

She nodded, “We always told Dudley and his friends to try and stay out of Potter’s way, but whenever we turned round, Potter would be there harassing them. Whenever there was a fight, we always knew Potter would be in the middle of it. We told the dinner ladies to keep an eye on her, but short of tying her to a bench, they’d always end up fighting again.”

“Potter would approach them?” Severus asked.

She shrugged, “Not as if those boys wanted to be associated with her,” she laughed cruelly. “Anyway, I know all those boys and they all come from very respectable backgrounds… I know I shouldn’t say it, but I find apples don’t fall very far from trees and you should have heard some of the stories Petunia told me about her brother-in-law… No, Dudley and his friends were all perfectly nice, if boisterous, normal children. I’ll admit, Dudley did sometimes have problems in the classroom – easily distracted, I suppose – but his homework was always of the highest standard. Some children just learn better on their own. Potter, on the other hand – that girl just stared at the wall in class, and Petunia said that’s just what she did at home. Mentally subnormal, I think, although no one wanted to push for testing. The stigma would have been hard to bear. But some of the claims she made… well, they don’t bear repeating.”

At the end of that tirade, Severus just nodded. He leant forward, “And your excuse for her weight.”

She turned red in indignation, “It’s not an excuse! Selfish girl wouldn’t eat at home. Oh, she’d scarf down whatever junk was served here, but Petunia was always at a loss to get good food into her at home. I don’t mean to be rude, but if you’d seen Dudley and Vernon, you’d know that there was no shortage of food at that house.”

“I never claimed there was,” Severus said.

She slammed her hand down on the table, “It was just yet another ploy for sympathy and to turn people against a good family. If you are feeding into it, you are as culpable as her. I was monumentally relieved when Petunia told me she was finally being taken seriously as the criminal she always has been. If you people decided to move her and now she’s wreaking havoc, then that’s not the Dursleys fault.”

She was breathing heavily by now, in sharp contrast to both Severus and Kingsley, who were like stone. Kingsley was minutely shaking his head at the collective insanity that seemed to have been gathered around Harry Potter. Even Severus was taken aback by the opinions these people held about a mere child, who did not even have the noticeable aspect of celebrity attached.

Severus took a deep breath, before deciding enough was enough. He had wanted to see how this woman could have ignored the boy and now he knew: she was as closed minded, bigoted and blinded as the rest of them. Not a monster, just monstrously ordinary to a dangerous degree. 

He leant back. “Thank you for telling us all that,” he said. 

She smirked at having proven these interlopers to be idiots. 

“I must, however, correct a few of your assertions.”

Her face fell.

Severus intertwined his fingers in his lap, “Harry Potter came to me two days ago and told us that she is pregnant, which a test confirmed-”

He held up a hand as she was about to interrupt – probably something along the lines of ‘what can you expect’.

“Harry Potter, while certainly an ordinary student, has never exhibited any of the behaviours you describe and, although she possesses a certain ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time-” perception is everything, he thought wryly. “-she has never demonstrated any inclinations towards activities that would result in pregnancy. Upon further questioning, we found that the sire is in fact her uncle, Vernon Dursley.”

Mrs Baxter’s face turned a pasty shade of green.

Severus smirked, never taking his eyes off hers. He could practically hear the alarm bells in her head. “Harry Potter is also suffering from chronic malnutrition and several internal injuries, stemming from neglect and abuse at home. We found out that she was forced to live in a cupboard when not at school, often locked in; denied access to food, clothing and healthcare; given chores in no way suitable for her age and stage; and was subjected to irregular physical violence, although the Dursleys were careful not to leave visible marks.” Well, they knew there wouldn’t be any marks, so… “Harry failed to do well in school, as she was punished for outperforming her cousin, but the homework you so praised just now, was in fact done by Harry. As well as all that, it has become clear that Petunia worked hard to turn the community against the child, relegating her to the roll of outcast and cutting her off from any support she might have had. Whether this is a crime, I’m not sure,” he turned to Kingsley, who shrugged. Who knew, in the muggle world?

“How- Petunia wouldn’t- she- they wouldn’t-” Mrs Baxter choked. 

“She did, Mrs Baxter,” Severus purred.

“Vernon couldn’t- he wouldn’t want to touch- it’s-”

“Disgusting, yes,” Severus leant forward again. 

“I don’t believe you.”

Defiance was perhaps inevitable. “Petunia and Vernon Dursley were arrested by Surrey Police this morning for Child Endangerment, Abuse, Neglect and Rape. They will be coming to question you later today.”

“How…” she was finally at a loss for words.

“Very easily,” Severus said. “We listened.”

He could see it finally dawn on her.

“Mr Snape-”

“Professor.”

“Professor Snape, I really don’t-”

“Harry Potter told us that she told you about the sexual abuse. There have been no lies in anything else she has said and, indeed, it was difficult to get the information out of her. She is not going out of her way to incriminate anyone. She is frightened for her child. She said that she told you when she was nine that her uncle was abusing her.”

“I- I-” she was looking round the room desperately, as if the answer was hanging on the wall. “She just said that she was sitting on her uncle’s lap and she didn’t want to. Lots of parents want to hang onto their children’s childhood.”

“But you yourself said that Vernon wouldn’t want to touch her,” Kingsley supplied.

“Yes, well… I… They’re good people,” she whined.

“Clearly not,” Severus stated.

“But… I thought… Petunia always said.”

“And therein lies the problem,” Severus said. “You listened to the people who looked respectable, rather than seeing what was right in front of you: a too thin child, in too big clothes, bullied by her larger, well cared for cousin and deeply unhappy and whose relatives hated them. And when that child came to you, you turned them away.”

“She can’t have been raped!” She declared. “She can’t. She must have… led him on, or something. Fourteen is… he must have been confused. A one off.”

“Statutory rape still.”

“Yes, but it’s not… I don’t know.”

“So you are saying it would be all right if her uncle started to have sex with her when she was fourteen?” Kingsley asked, looking a bit sick.

“I- I- No, that’s not what I’m saying! It’s just-”

“What would you say if I told you that this was not the first time Harry became pregnant?” Severus asked. For a second he thought she might actually faint. “Harry suffered a miscarriage at twenty weeks when she was twelve. The foetus is buried on our school grounds. Harry remained silent throughout all this. She did not know she was pregnant and went through the miscarriage alone. She buried her son in secret, because she was too afraid to tell anyone.”

Mrs Baxter was crying now, “She didn’t say rape. She just said he was touching her. I- We’d just watched a video… I thought she was looking for attention.”

“She came forward, because you said you would listen and then you put her back there and got her punished even more for coming forward. You proved to her that it would do her no good. For the record, she wasn’t being raped when she came to you, but that doesn’t make what was happening to her any better. And you could have stopped it from escalating. You could have got her out of there.”

“I- I-”

Severus sighed. He was tired. It had been an impossibly long day and he had been up all night brewing Potter’s potions. He had what he wanted from her. There was just one thing left to do.

“The police will be here to talk to you later, I expect. You should have been aware of the abuse. Anyone with eyes should have been aware. Potter is too small, has no regard for hi-er own safety and keeps to a ridiculously small group of friends. I admit that I passed it off as pig-headedness and assumed that there were more friends that I just didn’t see, but part of it must have been deliberate. Subconscious doubts should be enough. I didn’t see. I let my pre-determined opinions shape my view of the child. The difference is that when Potter came to me, I didn’t turn her away. That is the only difference between us and I am clinging to that right now.”

She was crying in ernest. Severus doubted she was listening to a word he was saying, but Kingsley had fixed him with a piercing look. Severus told himself he didn’t care if the Auror judged him – it could be no worse than he judged himself.

Seeing that she was too hysterical to pay any attention to what he was doing, Severus slipped his wand into his fingers, hidden under the desk. Kingsley raised an eyebrow and his muscles coiled in anticipation, but he didn’t stop him.

“You will have to live with the knowledge that your actions, in believing Petunia Dursleys lies; and your inaction when Harry Potter came to you, condemned a child to years of abuse and distress. A fourteen year old is carrying hi-er rapist’s child, because of you. You might try and forget it. You might try and pretend it never happened, but it will play on your mind from now on. Always there, niggling in the corner, I guarantee it.” 

Kingsley gasped as a small wisp of blueish smoke wafted out of the end of Severus’ wand and floated up and into Mrs Baxter’s ear. They both watched for a second as her sobs faltered and she slowly drifted into a snotty sleep.

“What was that?” Kingsley breathed.

“A variation on the perception charm Dumbledore employed,” Severus said normally, stowing his wand away. “It has mild sedative properties, as it works its way into her brain. We can speak normally.”

Kingsley got up and examined her, “You had permission?”

Severus shrugged, “I told Dumbledore I wouldn’t harm them physically. It was the best I could think of at short notice and shouldn’t interfere with the muggles’ investigation. Maybe if she remembers what she did, she won’t let it happen again. I’ve simply made sure that it is slightly more present in her mind than it might otherwise have been.”

Kingsley nodded absently, “It’ll send her mad.”

“Maybe,” Severus said, not particularly bothered. “You’d be surprised how much guilt a person can live with.” He grimaced. He spoke from experience.

Seeing that Kingsley was showing no signs of completing his examination, Severus said, “The charm puts her to sleep for approximately ten minutes. Never having seen it in practice, I can only speculate. You should do the obliviate and we should go.”

“You might as well do the obliviate, since you’ve already tampered with her,” Kingsley said, slightly petulantly.

“Within the larger perception charm, it won’t show up,” Severus said. He squinted at the Auror, “Are you going to report me?” He hadn’t considered that as a possibility. He thought Kingsley would want some form of magical justice today and it wasn’t as if it was disfiguring…

Kingsley shook his head, “Honestly, it’s the least she deserves.” He cast a quick, mild obliviate, covering the last half an hour, and a cleansing charm on her face to be on the safe side – it would be confusing if she woke up with no memory of why she had been crying, this way it would just seemed like a postprandial nap – before turning back to Severus. “I’m just surprised you didn’t do something to the Dursleys.”

Severus snarled, “No opportunity.”

Kingsley cast another mild obliviate on the receptionist, so the police would not know they had been there, and they both made their way out of the school and down the wannabe country road to a secluded corner of the park. With a final glance over his shoulder at the picture perfect little school, just visible through the trees, Severus exchanged farewells with Kingsley and they apparated their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update 26th October. Please Review!!!
> 
> Edited 20/10/2018 to get rid of some silly mistakes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews – they were fab, as usual. Let’s see what happens next.

The Apparition wards around Hogwarts were a pain, but today Severus was grateful for them, as the walk back to the castle afforded him time to think. The day had proven to be at once more and less frustrating than he had been expecting – true, there had been no problems with the arrest and at every turn Potter’s story had been corroborated. Many times it had actually been shown that the boy had skimped on many of the indignities he had suffered.

That was where the frustration lay. 

Potter had been so reticent about the entire thing, apparently only giving up the bare minimum of information. Severus had assumed since he arrived at the school that Potter wore his heart on his sleeve the way his father had done – the way most Gryffindors did… the way most teenagers did. 

Thinking about it, it had bothered Severus, the way the boy had been through experiences year after year that would have left any child terrified and mentally scarred, with seemingly no more than a few scratches and maybe a heightened alertness for a few days. Severus had watched him after he had faced the Dark Lord’s spirit at eleven; after he had faced a basilisk single handed and merely a couple of hours later he had been celebrating with his friends; when he had avoided death by Werewolf and then immediately been swarmed by hundreds of his worst nightmare.

That had been part of his own problem with the boy, Severus tried to reason: he had been frustrated by the apparent lack of response when he and others had been in danger.

At no point had he seemed overly perturbed by these encounters. The only time his mental recovery had lasted longer than the time it took to check that his friends were intact, was after the Dementor debacle, and that anxiety had revolved entirely around the status of his thrice cursed godfather and the mangy moon mutt. Severus bit back yet another irritating wave of guilt at his own role in that particular episode. If he had just got the bastard exonerated, then maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess now… although the likelihood of someone straight out of Azkaban being allowed immediate custody of a child was nil and Lupin had proved exactly why he was unfit to be allowed to remain on school property…

Severus stepped into the castle and shoved that particular moral dilemma to one side for the moment. He needed to try and figure Potter out.

Each year he had attended Hogwarts, the boy had faced his own mortality, not merely in the abstract, but as a totally real possibility. When he had been bitten by the basilisk, he had been quite literal moments from death until Fawkes cured him, but he hadn’t reacted to his own near demise at all, as if it didn’t matter to him.

Could it be that the boy simply didn’t understand death? Unlikely, considering the fact that his whole life had been defined by it. Although, that didn’t preclude the possibility that he held the privileged belief of the young that they were invincible. None of Potter’s actions, however, seemed to imply a misunderstanding of the possibility of death and oftentimes he dove into trouble specifically to save others over and above himself, showing that he understood the necessity for saving. 

Overall, the only conclusion that could be garnered by his consistent behaviour was that the boy honestly didn’t care if he lived or died. 

It had sickened Severus all day, listening to people expound upon the fact that a child they barely knew was worthless. All his life until the age of eleven (and sometimes beyond that, Severus swallowed) Harry Potter had been told he was no better than the dirt under people’s shoes and – however much he took on the attributes of a well-adjusted child – some of it had clearly stuck. 

Severus arrived at his quarters and muttered his password – aeternum… Potter was the only other person in the castle who knew, and he doubted the fourteen year old had made the connection with the multi-layered symbolism of lilies. The flower held so many meanings and sub-attributes that it had become a macabre game for Severus to devise all his passwords based upon his lost friend.

He quickly sloughed his muggle attire and shrugged with a sigh into his preferred teaching robes. Much better.

Knowing that Dumbledore would want a report on the day’s events and that he would not be teaching any of Severus’ classes at this time – he had the last period on Tuesdays free – Severus swallowed a hastily made cheese sandwich and made his way through the empty halls of Hogwarts, to the Headmaster’s office.

“Headmaster,” he greeted the man behind the lavish desk.

“Severus,” Dumbledore replied. “Do have a sherbet lemon.”

Severus pursed his lips and made his customary refusal of the offer. That had been his main reason for the sandwich – though not exactly hungry, Severus could tell his stomach was on the verge of rumbling and then old coot would have been perfectly within his rights to force the sweet on Severus, giving him some sort of unspoken victory. 

“The Dursleys have been arrested,” Severus stated.

Dumbledore’s eyes dimmed, “Was there any resistance?”

“None. Rather more histrionics than strictly necessary, but the muggle police seemed to have it in hand.”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly, “I still am not happy that Petunia was arrested as well. If she remained, at least the Blood Wards would have stood.”

Severus blinked at him, “As I told you before, Headmaster, I do not think Arabella Figg – while a well-meaning woman – was a suitable monitor for the defences around Potter. Apart from missing the abuse the boy suffered, she also failed to notice that the wards have reduced to virtual non-existence.”

Dumbledore shook his head firmly, “You cannot possibly think I would have left something so important to hearsay,” he tipped his head forward and looked over his glasses almost playfully. “If the wards had fallen I would have been alerted immediately.”

“I did not say they had fallen,” Severus corrected through his teeth. His patience had been tried to the limit today and Dumbledore was not helping in the least. “I encountered token resistance around my mark, but it was barely more than a slight irritation. I doubt Kingsley even noticed me falter.”

“The wards probably detected your innate desire to do Harry no harm,” Dumbledore reasoned.

“Pure conjecture,” Severus scoffed.

Dumbledore sighed. “Even token resistance is preferable, in the event of Voldemort’s return,” he ignored Severus flinch at the name. “It would be useful for Harry to be able to utilise his mother’s sacrifice for his own safety and that of his child.”

Severus growled. “Even if the Dark Lord returned tomorrow and declared that he was taking up residence in Hogsmeade, Potter will not be returning to that family.”

“Now, now. There is no need for hyperbole,” Dumbledore scolded. “You are not thinking rationally, Severus. Harry will need protection.”

“Which he will receive,” Severus said. “Blood Wards are not the only protection available to us, even if they are the most convenient for you.”

Dumbledore glared at him, but Severus remained unmoved. For once, he held the moral high ground and he was not about to surrender it over one icy stare.

“If Petunia is released it would-”

“For heaven’s sake, Albus!” Severus finally snapped. “Even if Petunia finds a way to wriggle out of the charges against her, if you send the boy back there, knowing what you now do, any trust he might still hold for you and humanity in general will be destroyed. You keep talking about keeping him safe, but the point is, he wasn’t ever safe there! You have no right to send him back.”

Dumbledore regarded him over his glasses. “A discussion for another time,” the Headmaster said eventually.

“Headmaster-”

Dumbledore had already moved on. “I got an interesting floo call from the goblins today.”

Severus sighed. He would have to figure out how to get the old coot to see reason eventually. “What is the problem now?”

“It appears there have been some irregularities in Harry’s account handling,” Dumbledore hummed.

Severus frowned, “Haven’t they been managing his accounts?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore twinkled. “But it appears I made an error in a redirection spell I placed on Harry’s post. All his Gringotts statements were included in the spell and they are most displeased at my ‘meddling’ as they see it.”

Severus smirked. Goblins were notoriously spiteful when they felt wizards interfered with their work and would likely find devious, passive aggressive ways to make the venerable wizard regret his actions. At least the old fool would get some active retribution for his mishandling of the boy’s life.

“You needn’t look so pleased about it,” Dumbledore grumbled.

Severus shrugged and continued to smirk, “What do you intend to do about it?” he asked. 

“I have sent a house elf to sort through the build-up of post in the assigned chamber and sort through it. I suppose we shall introduce Harry to his fan mail eventually.”

Ignoring the reference to Potter’s celebrity, Severus said, “Is that safe?” There were likely many items sent by people who would not be described as ‘fans’ of the boy and they would certainly not be above sending cursed items.

“I have told the elf in question to be careful, but the room is warded to destroy all cursed material. In total there have only been four occasions of this happening, although unfortunately all of them were untraceable.”

Severus was sure he would have been able to make an educated guess as to the perpetrators. “I am confused,” he admitted. “I have seen the boy receive post…”

Dumbledore grinned, actually looking excited. “It was actually rather ingenious,” he said. “I manipulated the spell so that it would only allow post from senders he himself had instigated – answers to his letters, mail order – and teachers within the school, through monitoring of the sender’s magical signature.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. He could spot several flaws in that scheme, but chose to voice the most pertinent one, “But missives from Gringotts..?”

Dumbledore’s face fell, “Well, I will admit to overlooking a few things. It is unusual for students to have direct contact with bank managers, after all.”

Wondering if it was worth arguing about, or whether he should just give his report and go, Severus opened his mouth to reply, when a Ministry screech owl crashed through an open window, awakening Fawkes with its racket. The phoenix gave the bird an impressively withering look and folded his head back under his wing. That was the problem with Ministry owls – they had no class, raised with the idea that the world would stop for them, solely because of the crest on their leg strap.

Feeding the birds inflated ego, Dumbledore got up from his chair immediately, relieved the owl of its letter and fed it a treat. The temeritous fowl then had the gall to shoot a superior look at Severus before gliding out of the same window, not having the courtesy to wait for a reply.

Seeing Dumbledore open the letter and knowing that he was expected to sit there until the Headmaster had finished, Severus used the opportunity to call Nippy and order a strong cup of tea. A minute later she popped back with it and Severus sat back with the first good brew he had had all day – two tea bags, well steeped, with a dash of milk and not a particle of sugar. 

After his first blissful sip, Severus glanced up at the headmaster. He was frowning at the parchment as if it contained nothing but offensive expletives.

“What has Fudge done now?” Severus drawled, knowing more than he cared to about the Minister’s incompetence.

“It’s not Cornelius, for once,” Dumbledore said, still mulling the sheet in front of him. “It’s Arthur Weasley. He overheard some distressing news in the Prophet offices this afternoon.”

Severus slammed down his cup. “What was he doing at the Prophet? I told him-”

“Calm down, my boy,” Dumbledore said in a tone that was guaranteed to do anything but calm Severus down. “He was not there to give any information. Apparently a journalist there has been talking to a muggle-baiting gang and is refusing to co-operate with the investigation currently underway into their activities.”

“Oh,” Severus said, settling back down. “And why did he feel the need to include you in that particular commotion?”

“He didn’t,” Dumbledore said. “He wished to inform me that he overheard Rita Skeeter and Barnabus Cuffe – the editor over there – having a conversation about tomorrow’s headline as they went into his office.”

Severus’ stomach sank, “Don’t tell me…”

Dumbledore nodded grimly, “A well placed eavesdropping charm confirmed that she somehow found out that Harry is pregnant… all the details of the abuse as well.”

Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose. This day just wouldn’t end.

“Where is the leak from?” he asked, too tired to raise his voice.

“I don’t know, but it will be investigated,” Dumbledore said. “The main concern now is controlling the story. As you have pointed out, I doubt Harry is ready to deal with the publicity in the run up to his encounter next Tuesday.”

Twisting his mouth slightly at Dumbledore’s myopic, hypocritical approach to concern for the boy, Severus sighed and admitted, “That is not my main concern, Headmaster. When news of this breaks, unless it is very carefully handled, I highly suspect it will be used as the excuse for organised anti-muggle action.” 

“Of course!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “It would be disastrous if Harry’s plight were used by the more fanatical pure bloods as a rallying cry.”

“We could have a second wizarding war even without the Dark Lord,” Severus agreed grimly. “Only this time it would likely have the populous’ support.”

Dumbledore cupped his chin in his hands thoughtfully, “I have some sway at the Prophet, we could see about delaying until… Harry will have to make a statement.”

Severus nodded. He had seen this coming, although had hoped not to have to confront the matter until the boy’s head was clearer. “Something along the lines of ‘just as all wizard are not the Dark Lord, not all muggles are my relatives,” or something equally worthy of a tea towel should do the trick,” he sneered.

“The wording shall have to be carefully constructed,” Dumbledore mused. “But first, we must stop the presses!”

Severus rolled his eyes as Dumbledore jumped to his feet. “And how do you propose we do that?” he asked, sarcasm shining through. It was well known that, although the Ministry had some clout with the editing staff, once the Prophet got something into their head, nothing would deter them. ‘Witch Hunt’ was a term that could be literally applied to many of their stories.

Dumbledore just hummed and knelt at the fireplace. During the quick firecall that followed, Severus turned back to his slightly spilt tea, but a quick sip found it had somehow grown cold (he wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore to place a cooling charm on it as punishment for Severus’ outburst) and he never liked the stewed taste of rewarmed tea. He placed the cup back down with a grimace.

Dumbledore pulled himself up off the rug with a satisfied sigh, “Barnabus is going to floo over now.”

Severus raised his eyebrows. The editor of the Daily Prophet did not even respond to Fudge’s summons, if rumours were correct. Dumbledore just met his questioning gaze with a smile.

A second later a portly, greying man in far too fine a tailored robe for a Tuesday afternoon stepped through the fireplace and surged forward to greet Dumbledore. After more than the appropriate salutations had been exchanged, Cuffe wheeled round and noticed Severus glowering in his usual chair. The man straightened up immediately and looked down his nose haughtily. Severus snorted. 

The man had been a senior correspondent at the time of his trial after the Dark Lord’s fall and he had written several articles lambasting Severus for his lack of punishment, while expounding on the unfair treatment of Lucius Malfoy for being tarnished with the brush of Death Eater. Cuffe had been lining his pockets and gathering friends in high places since before Severus was born and had certainly not reached his current position through an abundance of talent.

Severus kept a close watch on the Editor out of the corner of his eye, and his personage firmly in his seat. Dumbledore sent him a scolding look, but said nothing.

“Barnabus, so good of you to come,” Dumbledore reiterated.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice, Albus,” Cuffe admitted through a tight smile, sitting as far away from Severus as his seat allowed. “What is it you want, Albus. I have to confirm tomorrow’s print.”

“I heard the headline would be most interesting,” Albus replied conversationally, examining his fingernails.

“Did you?” Cuffe asked, swallowing. “You know, now I think about it, I really don’t have time for a chat right now. I’ll just be-”

Severus stood to block his exit.

“Do have a seat, Barnabus,” Dumbledore ordered. “How rude of me, I haven’t offered you any refreshment.”

“No, really I couldn’t possibly-” Cuffe moaned, sliding into the seat. Severus noticed the upholstery didn’t have nearly as much give as usual.

“No really, I insist,” Dumbledore said, conjuring a tea tray the elves must have prepared earlier. Severus took a greedy gulp of his own cup and just managed to not spit it right out. Sweetened like a sherbet fountain. He gave Dumbledore a filthy look, which was inevitably ignored.

Once everyone had been served to the Headmaster’s satisfaction (and no one else’s) Dumbledore regarded Cuffe with inscrutable eyes and started to hum again. Just as Severus was about to grind his teeth to nubs and Cuffe seemed ready to have a heart attack, Dumbledore finally said, “How’s Angela? I haven’t seen her since the summer party last year.”

Cuffe spluttered, “She’s fine.”

Dumbledore nodded, “You can assure her that your granddaughter is doing very well. All the professor’s say she’s most talented.”

“Thank you, we’re very proud of her,” Cuffe said, turning to Severus. “She isn’t particularly fond of Potions.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. Louisa Cuffe was a first year Hufflepuff of no intelligence or talent, who had cried when he had suggested that her mangled bats’ spleens in combination with the Horklump Juice she had so carelessly thrown into her cauldron might result in a noxious cloud that would render the lot of them unconscious. He did not have high hopes for her.

Dumbledore laughed lightly, “Ah yes, well, some students dislike Professor Snape’s rigorous approach to the safety of his students.”

“What do you want to talk about, Albus?” Cuffe asked stiffly.

Dumbledore sighed and leant forward, “We know about the article that is about to come out about Mr Potter.”

“The information for which was obtained illegally,” Severus added.

“How do you know that?” Cuffe exclaimed stupidly.

Severus raised an eyebrow, “How else might it have been obtained? The boy is underage. You cannot go spreading his personal information as gossip.”

“It’s not gossip. It’s speculation until confirmed. And we have proof?”

Dumbledore frowned, “Is that so?”

Cuffe nodded vigorously, “You can check with St Mungo’s, the DMLE and WCP. They have it all.”

“We know,” Severus purred. “We wish to know, how do you?”

Cuffe paled, “Well… I… I don’t ask a reporter to give up their source. It’s unprofessional.”

“Yes,” Severus sneered. “And the Prophet is a very professional publication.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“Gentleman!” Dumbledore interrupted. “We have strayed off topic. The point is, we cannot allow you to publish your article just yet.”

Cuffe huffed, “And how do you think you’re going to stop me?”

“By appealing to your better nature, Barnabus,” Dumbledore said, ignoring Severus’ exaggerated eye roll. “I remember you when you were just eleven years old. Always so intent on truth and justice,” Severus held in a snort so hard he thought his nose might have grown even more – in an unguarded moment Dumbledore had admitted that Cuffe had always been a big-nosed scandal monger with less affinity with the truth than a mountain troll. 

“You must understand what this news being released would do to Harry,” Dumbledore continued. “A child only three years older than your granddaughter, and who is about to take part in a very stressful competition, while with child.”

Cuffe crossed his arms, looking belligerent, “He chose to enter his name.”

“Actually his being pregnant proves categorically that he did not enter his name into the Goblet,” Dumbledore said. 

Cuffe’s lips twisted into a Cheshire Cat grin, “And wouldn’t it be helpful to tell the world that their saviour is innocent?”

Severus growled, “Crouch will be issuing a statement that Potter is innocent of cheating later in the week,” Dumbledore looked a bit surprised by this, but Severus saw him nod out of the corner of his eye. 

“That won’t satisfy the public,” Cuffe scoffed. “They’ll want the full story.”

“They will get it,” Severus bit out. “When the time is right.”

“You have no right to try and control the freedom of the press for one boy’s pride,” Cuffe snapped. “Anyway, everyone love’s a sob story. It’d do him a world of good to get them back on his side.

“And why are they against him in the first place,” Severus snarled.

“It is not for Harry’s ego,” Dumbledore interrupted. “It is for his safety. And the safety of a great many other, Barnabus. People, who could be harmed if this story is not handled properly.”

“What are you talking about?” Cuffe scoffed. 

“I am talking about the possibility of attacks against muggles as retaliation against the actions of Harry’s relatives.”

Cuffe thought for a moment, “What people do after they read my paper is none of my concern. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

Again, Severus blocked him.

Seeing that the potion’s master was totally immovable, and guessing that he was faster, Cuffe retook his seat with little grace and less composure; Severus glided back into his.

Dumbledore fixed Cuffe with a stern glare over his glasses, “If there is violence as the result of one of your articles, I shall make sure the public is aware that you knew the possible costs of publishing such information. Especially when it isn’t time sensitive.”

Cuffe scoffed, “Of course it’s time sensitive. Do you have any idea how much revenue we’ll make if we publish this information first?”

“And who will beat you to the ‘scoop’?” Severus mocked. “The Quibbler? There is no good reason why you must publish this article now, especially without having adequate time to check the veracity of Skeeter’s claims.”

“Every article in the Prophet is checked to the highest standards!”

“Really,” Severus deadpanned. “Headmaster, do you happen to possess a copy of Sunday’s edition of the Daily Prophet?”

“As a matter of fact, I would, Severus,” Dumbledore replied jovially, reaching into his desk draw.

Cuffe reddened as Severus unfolded the paper and cleared his throat.

“According to your incredibly well vetted article, the Boy Who Lived, although orphaned thirteen years ago, as everyone in the country well knows, is only twelve years old.”

Cuffe spluttered, but before he could attempt an excuse, Severus continued, “He gives quite the monologue about his parents and their influence upon him; odd, since as far as I am aware he has never spoken of his parents with even his closest confidant. And, on the subject of close friends, it is interesting that Ms Skeeter felt the need to quote a thirteen year old – Mr Creevey – without his parents’, or the school’s consent, and without checking the veracity of his assertions as to Mr Potter’s social interactions, and must have chosen to truncate the comments to include only mentions of his female friend. I assume this is to stir rumours of Mr Potter’s romantic entanglements, which I would say is pure gossip mongering, and again, highly amoral in the context of a teenager, with nobody to represent him and designed solely to embarrass Mr Potter.”

Severus smirked to himself at the end of that speech. He had wanted to take apart the Prophet for years. The only slight annoyance was that it was over an article about Potter and not something more important.

When he had regained his breath, and allowed Cuffe to try and catch up with so many ideas at once, he said, “That is just the first two paragraphs, would you like me to continue?”

Cuffe huffed. “So, Rita got a few things confused, not like it’s that important in the long run, not with what we know now. And the public is so desperate for any news on Potter, can you blame us for jumping the gun a little? If you had just allowed us to talk to him earlier-”

“It paints a picture that the Prophet cannot be trusted to report events related to Harry properly,” Dumbledore reasoned. 

“A retraction would be appropriate,” Severus offered. 

Cuffe shrugged, “Apart from the age being wrong, which I admit was a silly mistake, there’s nothing there you can prove wasn’t said in the interview.”

“Because there is no record of the interview,” Severus said.

“Exactly.”

“And no witnesses?”

“Yes.”

“Even though Potter is underage and should have had someone there to help him?”

“He didn’t ask for anyone,” Cuffe said defensively.

“Was he told he could have someone there?” Severus asked.

“It’s not like he was being interrogated, or anything,” Cuffe squeaked.

“No, Ms Skeeter simply gave the whole of wizarding Britain the means to act as judge and jury,” Severus snapped. “He was in that cupboard – which was just ridiculous-”

“And not the location or procedure followed for the interviews with the other champions,” Dumbledore offered mildly.

“Who were hardly mentioned in the article, alienating the student population even more!” Severus cried. “And the interview with Potter lasted no more than four minutes, according to the witnesses who saw Skeeter and the boy leave. Hardly enough time for his life story to be hashed out. By Mr Potter’s own account, the only thing he actually said was ‘um’, which I for one – having experienced his conversation when put on the spot – am inclined to believe.” 

“Fine, I’ll print a retraction…” Cuffe said sulkily. “But I’ll be including Potter’s condition as evidence of his innocence, just to be thorough,” he smirked.

Severus gritted his teeth. There was no reasoning with the man – he had known Death Eaters with more active consciences than those who worked at the Prophet.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully for a minute. “I have thought for a while, Barnabus – if you would care for a scoop – that perhaps it would be time to introduce active reform proposals to the Wizangamot.”

“What are you talking about?” Cuffe asked nervously.

Dumbledore gave an overly nonchalant shrug, leaning back in his chair. “Well, the laws surrounding the press are rather outdated, don’t you think, not taking into account modern spell-craft, such as Quick Quote Quills and improved monitoring spells… I’m sure there are other examples, although off the top of my head…” he spread out his hands in apology.

“Those are necessary for us to do our jobs properly!” Cuffe protested. 

“But I would hate to think what the public would say if they became aware of how easy it would be for them to be surveilled and their statements truncated, for the benefit of the Prophet’s advertising revenues.”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Cuffe protested. “We have the highest codes of integrity-”

“But you admitted the article about Harry was left unvetted, specifically for a boost in readership,” Dumbledore frowned.

Cuffe’s lips thinned.

Dumbledore smiled, “I am also very disappointed, Severus, with the lack of competition the Prophet experiences.”

“Not ideal for encouraging high standards,” Severus agreed gravely. “Monopoly rarely does.”

“The Quibbler-”

“Alas has a bit of a reputation for being less than reputable,” Albus sighed. “I really think it is time to encourage a wider range of independent reporting…” 

“The Prophet is independent!”

“But only one opinion,” Dumbledore said, as Severus scoffed.

“You can’t do this!” Cuffe shouted, jumping to his feet. The stout man’s chest was heaving and he actually looked panicked by the threat. He must have known how large a proportion of the population loathed the Prophet’s reporting. “There’s no reason… The Wizangamot has no reason to legislate against us!”

“But it wouldn’t be against the Prophet,” Dumbledore said, feigning surprise at the accusation. “It would merely provide formal safeguards in the pursuit of journalistic integrity, which, as you have pointed out, is the Prophet’s byword.” Dumbledore leaned over and pulled out of his desk draw such a large stack of files, that they must have had some sort of shrinking charm on them. He dumped them on the desk. “And as for cause, I have here two decades worth of articles that warrant such laws. I have been, quite frankly, shocked by some of the claims the Prophet has made over the years.”

Severus sat unmoving, staring between the pile of files and Dumbledore. He was sure his files were in there… twenty years… the old coot should have done something years ago – saved dozens from the slander of the paper and stopped charlatans like Fudge using it for their own ends…

“The Minister would never allow it!” Cuffe yelled.

Dumbledore looked over his glasses, eyes twinkling madly, “The Minister does not control the Wizengamot.”

For a second Cuffe looked like he was about to have a heart attack, but before he could turn Severus’ day around, he deflated back into his seat.

“What do you want?” The fraud asked. 

Dumbledore smiled, “A retraction over the misinformation given in Ms Skeeter’s recent article, including a fair representation of the other champions and it to be made clear that Harry at no point made any of the claims detailed in the article.”

“Rita won’t be happy,” Cuffe muttered.

“Ms Skeeter would do well to be reminded of the remit of her job, and the limits thereof,” Dumbledore said. “She should also be informed that she is barred from school grounds until we have conducted an investigation into how she came by this information in the first place. No mention is to be made of Harry’s condition at this point.”

“I can’t hold it off forever,” Cuffe complained. “There’s already chatter in the Auror Office about something to do with Potter. It’ll get out eventually.”

“Wednesday,” Severus interjected. “Next Wednesday. Let the boy get through the task without everyone yammering on at him. We’ll arrange a statement from him before then and the finished article will have to be cleared by the Headmaster before print.”

Cuffe nodded resentfully, “And I’m not responsible for any of the nut-cases after that.”

“No,” Dumbledore confirmed. “So long as all possibly opportunities are taken to make Harry’s position on muggles clear – that is to say, discredit attacks in his name – then you will not be held responsible.” 

“Fine,” Cuffe grumbled. “Then, if that’s all, I have to redo the front page. I hope everyone’s interested in the increased price of beetle legs…”

He got up for a final time, gathering his hat and cloak around him. Severus followed his to the fireplace. Just as the Editor was about to take a handful of floo powder, Severus grabbed his wrist.

“You report anything on any of this before the agreed time, and I will not be held responsible for my actions either,” Severus growled, enjoying seeing the colour drain from Cuffe’s flabby face. “I know you and your lies, although you weren’t far off on some of the things I am capable of. You have come after me often enough and I will not have you attacking children.”

Severus glared at him for a few moments until – convinced that the message had sunk in – he let go suddenly from the man’s arm and watched him stumble into the fireplace.

He swept round to view the conniving fool behind the monolithic desk. Dumbledore just beamed at him.

“That went well,” the Headmaster said.

“What is that?” Severus demanded, pointing to the files as he advanced.

Dumbledore glanced at the pile, “Just some insurance I saw fit to gather. One can never be too careful.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Severus said. “One can be far too careful when one has the facility to enact change and instead hides the required evidence in a drawer!”

Dumbledore’s face fell, “It is always prudent to play one’s cards close to one’s chest.”

“Not at the expense of everyone around you! Have you any idea what a difference reforms to the Prophet would have meant for those they have slandered over the years? The lies they have spread? Merlin, even in the last war… you must have known the Dark Lord had journalists embedded there.”

“I could prove nothing.”

“Of course not,” Severus sniped. “Even without proof of the specifics, the press has needed reform for years and you… Did you never think to use some of this influence to help me?” Severus kept his stance extra stiff, to try and counteract the self-pity he could hear lace his tone.

Dumbledore sighed, “My boy, I did my best, but I could find no way of reconciling pronouncement of you innocence with the need to maintain your long term cover.”

“The Dark Lord was gone,” Severus said. “If you really think discrediting articles about my unsuitable nature for the post would have any more influence over the Dark Lord and his followers than my actually living at Hogwarts then-”

“I always supported you, Severus,” Dumbledore pointed out sternly. “I never allowed the Governors to take action based on those articles-”

“Which was a possibility. You remember my first years here.”

“The rumours petered out, just as I knew they would.”

You knew nothing, Severus longed to say, but seeing that the personal angle had no sway over the man, he instead asked, “Do you intend to follow up on you threats now?”

Dumbledore looked surprised, “I made no threat.”

Severus sighed, “The reforms you suggested. You could enact them.”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly, “Alas, I was not entirely honest with Barnabus, as I’m sure he will eventually realise. While Cornelius might not have official control of the Wizangamot, he has enough. The suggested laws would not pass.”

“But public opinion-”

“-Is swayed by the media,” Dumbledore said ruefully, “Which we have no onus over as to their coverage. The reasoning for the changes would not be made public and any reforms – even around expanding the press – would be manipulated to make it seem as though we were trying to manipulate the public.”

“Not necessarily,” Severus argued.

“Severus, I have thought about this for many years,” Dumbledore sounded somewhat annoyed. “In the long run it is best to let things run its course and at the moment I have alleviated the pressure on Harry and we have control over the situation.”

“For now.”

“Yes, for now,” Dumbledore sighed. “We shall worry about later when it comes. I have found, during my many years, that it is best to let matters take their course.”

“Poppycock,” Severus said.

“Severus,” Dumbledore warned.

“No Headmaster… You have the power to make really changes, to make sure that the public is well informed by journalists who are accountable for the mendacities they perpetrate. You are as bad as them if you believe you can influence the narrative where it suits you and only then. Would you have even stepped in over Skeeter’s treatment of the boy, had his pregnancy not come to light? Without the possibility of muggle attacks?”

Dumbledore spread his hands, “My boy, I admit in the long term it is not ideal that Barnabus knows my hand, certainly. While it is unfortunate that Harry was being unfairly targeted by Ms Skeeter, beyond banning her from school grounds... you agreed with me, if you recall.”

Severus waved an arm to cut off mentions of his own ill use of the boy. He did know if he would have condoned such treatment if had been Diggory being targeted. Actually he did know – he would have ignored the situation and listened to Pomona’s accounts of how the young man’s family were dealing with it.

“The world is a chess game, Severus. I am in the unfortunate position of having to plan for the long term,” Dumbledore finished sadly.

“You forget, Headmaster, that we are not simply your pawns.”

They stared at each other for a long while, neither sure where to go from there. Severus had always looked up to Dumbledore, with a pugilistic way of showing it, but always with respect – seeing the extent of the man’s manipulations foisted on another and with such devastating consequences had completely knocked his equilibrium. 

“Albus, I was just chatting with Archibald the Aimless at the bottom of the stairs and Minerva is on her way up,” Dippet announced from his portrait. Severus glanced up wearily to see that all the usual malingerers were there, squinting at him as they made a bad pretence of snoozing.

“Thank you, Armando,” Dumbledore said softly.

The door opened and Minerva marched in.

“Severus! I didn’t know you were back,” she exclaimed.

“Clearly,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I just came from dropping Harry back at your rooms,” she explained.

Severus looked up, “He only just got back?” he had expected the boy back by one at the latest. The goblins were not known to draw out their meetings.

“Yes, he said Mrs Weasley took him on quite the excursion. Looked a bit thrown by the entire thing, although that might have been the floo sickness. Horrid case of it. Luckily nothing a quick cleaning charm won’t sort out,” Minerva said.

“Poor boy,” Dumbledore commented.

“Quite,” Minerva agreed through pursed lips. “He seemed a bit dizzy, so I walked him down the dungeons. Really, Severus, aeternum? A bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“And you just left him there?” Severus snapped. This was why it all fell to him! No one else seemed to see that the boy needed more than a pat on the head. And what was the brat thinking, announcing his password to the world like that?

“Severus,” she admonished. “I made sure he was safely situated in his rooms and told him to get some sleep. He would hardly want his Transfiguration professor sitting there watching him and I doubted you wanted me lingering in you quarters, so I left him to it.”

While none of that seemed unreasonable, Severus had a bad feeling where Potter was concerned.

“Headmaster, I will leave you. If you have anything to report of my classes today, please let me know. I shall have a full account of the day’s events written up for you by the morning.”

He swept out down the stairs, swinging the door shut just in time to hear Dumbledore’s quiet agreement and Minerva’s grumbling.

He strode through the school, the figurative black storm clouds following so palpable that the recently released students parted before him with even more haste than usual. Severus reached his door without coming across any activity that needed to be checked and without that to get his frustration out of his system, he took a deep breath before muttering the password and stepping into his rooms. 

The boy wasn’t sitting in his usual armchair. Severus looked around and had to come to the conclusion that Potter had been sensible for once and was actually resting. Just as he was about to sigh in relief and take a well-deserved sit down in his favourite spot, however, the door to the spare room creaked open and an extremely pale Potter emerged.

“Oh,” the boy pulled up short upon seeing Severus in the middle of the living room.

“Oh, indeed, Mr Potter,” Severus drawled. “I believe you are under instruction to rest.”

Potter blushed, which at least brought some colour back to his cheeks, “Um… yeah. I just needed a drink. I was just going to call Nippy for some of that tea…”

“And you couldn’t do that in your room, because..?”

“Oh,” Potter seemed confused. “I wasn’t sure… I mean, I didn’t think you’d want me having food and stuff in the bedroom.”

Severus did sigh then, although not in relief, “While usually you would be correct, I would assume common sense would dictate that your condition makes calling Nippy to your room prudent.”

“Sorry,” Potter muttered.

Severus went over to the boy, who was slumped against the doorway, ashen, and cupped his face, pulling it up so he could have a proper look. Potter squinted, as if he had a headache, and refused to meet Severus’ eye, even at such close range.

“Anaemic,” Severus diagnosed. “And Professor McGonagall informed me that you were floo sick upon arrival in her office.”

Potter blushed again. “Sorry, I tried to clear it up, but-”

“Professor McGonagall is perfectly capable of performing a cleaning charm.”

“Yeah, but… sorry.”

“Would you stop apologising,” Severus said irritably. Seeing the boy was in no condition to safely manoeuvre himself, he took his elbow and deposited him in his favoured seat. A moment later the tea had been ordered and Severus decided to serve himself a mug of the herbal remedy as well. It was better than nothing.

“Thanks,” Potter murmured, breathing the steam in deeply. He still seemed far too pale and shaky.

Remembering the potions he had brewed the night before, Severus stood again and went to retrieve a portion from his lab.

“Here,” he said, handing Potter the vial. “It’s a supplement potion. It needed twelve hours to rest, otherwise I would have given it to you this morning. It should alleviate some of your symptoms.”

To his credit, Potter only hesitated momentarily before gulping down the brownish concoction with little more than a grimace. 

“Thank you, sir,” he said. Severus watched as some real colour returned to his face and the dark circles around his eyes seemed to retreat. 

“Have you eaten today?” Severus asked.

“Um…” Potter looked up through his fringe. “I had breakfast here and Mrs Weasley and I got some lunch in London.”

“Did you keep any of it down?” Severus asked, sure that the boy wasn’t being straight with him.

Potter shook his head, “The floo. Sorry, I-”

“I said, stop apologising,” Severus ordered. He got up, again leaving his tea and went over to the floo. Poppy had said the morning sickness was only an issue if he didn’t keep anything down and now – the one time Severus let him out his sight – he had been sick all day.

Poppy had clucked that it was probably unnecessary, but had brought her bag through to check over a needlessly bemused Potter. 

“Well, everything seems all right,” Poppy said. “Floo sickness isn’t nice, but it certainly isn’t fatal. Just try to get some rest and eat something tonight. How do you feel?” she asked the boy.

He shrugged, “All right now. Not sick any more. My heart has been beating really fast since lunchtime though.”

“Constantly?” Poppy frowned.

Potter shook his head, “Just randomly. It was a bit odd…” The worried glint in his eyes showed that he had found it more than ‘odd’. Severus growled – why had the boy not mentioned it to him earlier.

Poppy patted Potter’s hand, “It’s common in anaemia. As I say, rest and food and- Have you taken the supplement potions yet?” she looked round at Severus, who was busy glaring in the corner.

“Just one,” Potter said.

“Which one?” Poppy asked.

“I brewed a comprehensive potion based on the requirements set out by the specialist,” Severus said, not liking the implication that he would have been lax in the boy’s treatment.

Poppy glowered, “I know it is an interest of yours, Professor Snape, but comprehensive potions have yet to be tested-”

“The research has been tested to all standards, it simply isn’t due to be published until next month,” Severus snapped. Did she really think him to be incompetent?

Her face softened, “You didn’t say. Congratulations, Professor. That will make a big difference to brewing backlogs.”

“Once the brewers are used to it,” Severus agreed.

“You invented a potion?” Potter asked. Severus narrowed his eyes, but the boy sounded intrigued, rather than incredulous, which was most people’s reaction.

“Yes,” Severus answered shortly.

“Well, I need to get back to the Hospital Wing,” Poppy said. “Be sure to call me if you have any worries, but I’m sure everything’s fine. As I said, just get some rest and you should be fine for classes tomorrow, with the reduced work load Professor Snape mentioned yesterday. Eat something tonight, preferably iron rich and something with Vitamin C, to help him process it,” she added to Severus, who nodded.

“Thank you,” Potter mumbled as the medi-witch flooed out. He slumped back in his chair.

“It is still early to eat,” Severus pointed out. Maybe he could persuade the child to take a nap, so he could get some peace.

The boy nodded absentmindedly. “Did you really invent a new potion?” he asked… shyly.

Severus sighed and retook his seat opposite the boy, “I developed a methodology to streamline the production of certain potions.”

“Oh,” was the answer he got. Typical. Only flash-bang-wallop was appreciated at this school. “Do you do stuff like that a lot?” 

“During the summer months I endeavour to further my research into various potions. I have not made a habit out of inventing new potions, but have proved myself adept at improving those already existing,” Severus said evenly. He was quite proud of his work, even if it was only appreciated by other potions masters.

“Oh,” Potter said again. He looked at his feet for a moment before saying, “I didn’t know my dad’s dad-”

“Your Grandfather, I believe is the noun you are searching for,” Severus jibed, annoyed at the conversation being turned round to the sainted Potter family.

Potter shrugged, still not looking up, “Griphook said he invented a hair potion. And that other people in my family invented skel-gro and… Pepper-Up… there was another,” he was speaking so softly Severus almost doubted he was meant to hear.

“The Potter’s have always been well known as a brewing family,” Severus said. There wasn’t a week when James Potter hadn’t bragged about it, even as he and Lily had outshone the brash moron in every aspect of the class.

“I didn’t know,” Potter mumbled.

Of course he hadn’t.

“I didn’t know about the houses either,” the boy said louder, huffing a forced laugh. “Apparently I’m rich!” he looked pained rather than elated.

“You will be able to provide for your child amply,” Severus reasoned. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s just… I’m really pleased and everything, obviously. And Griphook gave me loads of things to go over and apparently there’s stuff – like, not just money down there, so it’d be really wicked to see things from my family and I’ll have somewhere to live… It’s just…”

Severus waited, but the sentence just kept hanging. “Yes?” he prompted.

“People don’t like it when you have more than them,” the boy hesitantly offered.

“People in my experience are not worth fretting over,” Severus sneered.

Potter nodded hastily and turned back to his feet.

Severus sighed. “What is it that concerns you?”

Potter glanced up, suspicious at the overture. “It’s just… Ron always goes on about my money and how good I have it… I think that’s why he never saw… And Mrs Weasley, today – she just got so uncomfortable at the bank and whenever I went to pay for the clothes – I didn’t even think I needed all that, but she said… it- she just got this look whenever money came up. I get it and everything – money’s just one of those things – but if she doesn’t like it, Ron definitely won’t and-”

“Mr Potter,” Severus interrupted. “You appear to be entering the realm of hypotheticals. I seriously doubt that those who truly wish to help you would turn away, simply because you are now aware of the state of your bank balance and I think you are doing a great disservice to Mrs Weasley for implying so.” Or he better be…

“I- I didn’t mean- It’s just-”

“Articulate as always, Mr Potter.”

Potter blushed. “It’s just all a bit strange. And I’d never really thought about my family before. You know, beyond my parents. And now, it’s all there and-”

“Did you really think your parents, in the four years they were out of school, were able to accrue the amount in your vault?”

The boy shrugged – a most infuriating habit, “I dunno. I guess I never really thought about it. It’s not like I knew about all of it…”

Severus rolled his eyes. Trust Vault. He might have known Potter Sr. would have set one up. The Potter fortunes were most definitely intact then; for a moment he had thought from the boy’s worries that the elder Potter might somehow have managed to spend it all – with some of his hare-brained schemes, it wasn’t that much of a leap. 

“You don’t think they would have been disappointed, do you?” Potter said ever so shyly, looking up through his eyelashes, ever so like Lily did when she was unsure about something.

“Whom, Mr Potter?” Severus snapped, unnerved. “Your parents? I highly doubt it. They were both obnoxiously doting, from what I have heard.”

“No,” Potter whispered. “My… the rest of them. I mean, I’m rubbish at potions and… I don’t think I’m good enough… to be a Potter… they all seem… and with the baby and everything…” he pulled at his hair a bit, before catching himself and lowering his fidgeting hands to his lap.

Severus just stared at the boy for a minute. All this time and he had no idea the child was so insecure. Two days ago he never would have assumed him to be faking.

“It might ease your mind to know that your father was rather terrible at the subject. I don’t think your grandfather ever berated him for it.”

“Oh,” Potter said.

Severus regarded him, “And I don’t doubt that if you actually applied your full efforts to your studies you would see a great improvement across the board.”

The boy’s head shot up so fast his hair carried on moving long after his body stopped. 

“You admitted that the study habits encouraged by your… relatives-” Severus felt his mouth twist and Potter ducked his head. “-were less than satisfactory. The Heads of House have all agreed that we would like to help you get through this year and beyond and that means helping you improve your study methods, as you will need to be in good habits when the child comes if you want to receive your OWLs.”

“Um… Thank you… sir,” Potter faltered.

Severus rolled his eyes, “Your welcome, Mr Potter. Now if you are quite done with your histrionics, I am required to get you something to eat. I suppose it is too much to ask that you tell me what you would prefer?”

The boy was taken aback, “Um…”

“I have the ingredients for a cheese sandwich,” Severus said. It was his favourite snack and the only items he never relied on the Elves to bring him. Potter paled at the thought. He needed something to settle his stomach.

Severus sighed. “Think, Potter, what can you eat without being ill?” The last thing Severus needed was the boy falling ill and Poppy blaming him.

“Honestly, sir, the tea’s fine. I’m really not that hungry-” he was cut off by a rumble.

Severus smirked, “I can hear. The tea does not serve the purpose of providing you some sustenance. The potion I gave you works better with food, so I repeat: what can you eat?”

Potter stammered for a moment, “It’s really stupid…” he blushed.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. Merlin save him from overwrought teenagers. “What, Mr Potter?”

“I- in Diagon Alley – we only walked through on the way to Gringotts, but I saw the sweet shop and Ikindofhaven’tbeenabletostopthinkingaboutLiquoriceWands,” Potter muttered in a rush, bright red. 

“Liquorice Wands?” Severus repeated.

“I know it’s really stupid, sir, and the Elves don’t make them or anything, but that’s the only thing I can think of… if there’s anything in the fridge, I could just make something.”

Severus pursed his lips, “I expect to see that tea drunk by the time I return.” He turned to leave.

“Sir?” 

Severus ignored him.

This had absolutely nothing to do with the possibly similarities between his treatment of the boy and what he had witnessed today. He just didn’t want Poppy ranting at him and wasting his time; too much of it had been taken up by the boy already. Severus gritted his teeth. Anything he could get down the brat…

There was one person he knew to be a Liquorice Wand fanatic – having had to confiscate several during class over the years – and who would be willing to give a few up for her new pet project.

“Pura” Severus grimaced and stepped through where the wall had once been into the Slytherin Common Room. Everyone jumped to their feet in respect as their Head of House walked in. Now more than ever, Severus was grateful for the active role he played as their Head of House, although he had been lax the last few days, thanks to a particularly troublesome and troubled Gryffindor. 

The usual suspects surged forward to ask for help with their homework, but Severus waved them away with promises to return after dinner, when hopefully Potter would be too exhausted to be much of a bother.

Thanks to the commotion caused by his entrance, it was easy to find Miss Fawley, who had come to investigate.

“Miss Fawley, I need to speak to you,” he announced, hushing the crowd and forcing them to dissipate. She came over, leaving her friends and following him to a secluded corner – one of the things he had always loved about the Slytherin Common Room was that it was designed not to be overheard.

“Is everything all right?” she asked. “I mean with… you know.”

Severus glared at her, but she just stared right back at him. “He is fine, just tired and a little floo sick. I was wondering if you would be willing to part with one of those Liquorice Wands you are so fond of.”

Miss Fawley smirked and said much louder than she should have, “He wants sweets? My mum was the same. According to old wives’ tales that means it’s a girl.”

“Really?” Severus hissed. “I trust you will keep that titbit to yourself.” 

She stood firm, “I’ll go get them and I’ll take him to Honeydukes on Sunday… he is allowed to Hogsmeade, isn’t he?”

“Of course,” Severus snapped. Someone would need to arrange an occulist appointment for the brat and Severus just knew that task was going to fall to him.

She just smiled at him and skipped away to her room. Severus remained in the corner, tapping a foot and generally giving off an aura that dared anyone to come ask a foolish question.

A minute later Miss Fawley returned with a ream of parchment. “My research for my NEWT project,” she said loudly. “Thank you for agreeing to look it over, Professor, I really do appreciate it. Sorry for forgetting to drop it off earlier, that was very rude of me.”

Severus regarded her beadily for a moment. She was so ridiculously bubbly sometimes, even he sometimes forgot how canny she was under the smile. The few students foolish enough to try and eavesdrop – Malfoy really did need to work on his subtlety – now looked utterly terrified at the idea of inconveniencing the Potion’s Master so, that they had quickly scurried away.

“Twenty points to Slytherin,” he said under his breath. 

She grinned at him. “Do you need me to come with you to discuss it, Professor?”

Knowing what she was really asking, Severus said, “No, I need to read it first and have a lot of other work to attend to, as you should be well aware. Tomorrow, maybe,” Under his breath he murmured, “He’s exhausted.”

“Everything’s been fine in the Common Room while you’ve been occupied, sir, you don’t need to worry,” she grinned. “And tomorrow would be fine.” She was having far too much fun. 

Severus rolled his eyes at acting as a messenger for teenagers, he gave a curt nod. Clutching the parchment, in the middle of which he could feel the contraband, he made his way to the door.

“Is the golden girl in trouble?” he heard Malfoy scoff.

“Careful, Malfoy, or I’ll report that you’ve been copying your Transfiguration homework from that Ravenclaw with the ponytail,” Miss Fawley declared.

Severus heard the gasp as Malfoy whipped round to realise his Head of House was still present, but, as he didn’t break his stride, no one seemed to realise that Severus had heard. As he closed the door behind him, Severus smirked. He knew Miss Fawley had been a good choice as Head Girl.

Quickly returning to his own rooms, Severus leafed through the papers – which he saw were indeed notes on her project that needed checking, apparently by tomorrow – and extracted the sweets. He opened his door and stepped through, ready to announce that he had been successful…

Only to find the boy dead asleep in his armchair.

Severus’ shoulders slumped. The ungrateful little… exhausted child. His glasses had slipped onto the side of his face and he was curled into the arm of the chair like it was a teddy bear. 

Sighing, Severus placed the wands on the coffee table, removed the boy’s glasses before they fell off and summoned a thick blanket from across the room. Once he was sure Potter wasn’t going to catch pneumonia and get him in trouble with Poppy, Severus retreated to his study. He would wake the boy when it was time to eat, but in the meantime he had a report to write on the occupants of Privet Drive. Maybe Dumbledore would see reason then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking at Life, the Universe and Everything with a dash of realism, I have come to the inevitable conclusion that updating every week is completely impractical… Who saw that coming? Every 2 weeks, however, is perfectly doable, so the next update will be November 9th.   
> Please leave a review, they’re always appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you for all the fantastic reviews, again. I really appreciate them.
> 
> (In the book the Hogsmeade day happens on Saturday… I thought it was Sunday, didn’t check and wrote this and the next chapter before checking. So… This takes place on Sunday. Sorry for the anachronism.)

Harry grinned to himself, as he was able to properly see Hogsmeade for the first time, rather than a rather pretty blur. The occulist had even let Harry stomp on his horrid old round glasses, while complementing him on how well his new rectangular frames suited his bone structure and the gold accented his green eyes… of course she had said that, though, Harry thought, since she had been the one to pick them out.

Harry was now the proud owner of not one, but three pairs of unbreakable, water-repellent, self-cleaning, find-me-charmed, unfoggable glasses. Two pairs were wire rimmed, as Harry had found upon trying on numerous examples that those were what he was most comfortable in – the ones he was wearing (gold) and a shimmering, blue framed pair, which the occulist had called ‘aquamarine’. The third pair had a thicker frame which changed colour when Harry wore them and had little fluttering snitches as screws – he hadn’t been able to resist.

Harry looked up and down the high street, which was swarming with Hogwarts students, inevitably on a Hogsmeade weekend. Despite the fact that Snape had insisted he leave his invisibility cloak behind, so far Harry hadn’t been bothered. Between his new clothes and now the glasses, Harry couldn’t imagine he looked much like himself. He had even forgone his usual Weasley jumper for one of his new buys, as that very morning he had seen in the mirror what he had been able to feel for two weeks: he was showing.

Harry had been well on his way to being fully dressed when he had happened to catch sight of himself in the full length mirror on his wardrobe and had had to stop. 

That was definitely a bump.

Harry had barely breathed as he traced his fingers over the slight curve between his hips and his throat tightened as he imagined the increasingly person shaped being inside.

“Hi baby,” he whispered again, discreetly rubbing his belly beneath his cloak and finally hopping off the occulist’s step. Now that his one and only chore and reason for leaving his room had been completed, Harry just wanted to go and meet Lyra, so he could get back and spend the rest of the day examining his stomach… like any normal fourteen year old boy… and waiting to talk to Sirius.

Harry wasn’t sure exactly how that was supposed to happen, but he had received a short note on Wednesday evening.

Harry,  
Dumbledore explained everything. I’ll talk to you on Sunday night at one. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right,  
Snuffles

Sirius seemed confident enough about it and Harry had too many other things to worry about without adding the whys and wherefores of how contact was exactly supposed to work to the list. He just hoped his godfather was as understanding in person as he was in the letter.

Harry sighed and started up the high street. The appointment had actually taken less time and been a lot less traumatic that Harry had expected and he now understood why no one had even thought to offer to come with him. There had been no bright lights in tiny rooms with people breathing their morning breath into his face and poking things into his eyes like when Aunt Petunia had taken him. The lady had just cast a variation of a diagnostic charm on his eyes, put in a few potion drops and performed some sort of spell that had the focus of Harry’s eyes changing like crazy, finally stopping it when the board had become entirely clear. Apart from making him a bit dizzy, it had been fine. She had tutted loudly about how wrong his prescription had been and given him strict instructions to come back in six months for a check-up.

Harry hurried through the crowd with his head down. A number of students were wearing their Potter Stinks badges proudly, knowing that it was unlikely a teacher would shout at them about it here, and Harry didn’t want to have a confrontation with anyone right now.

Ever since he had come out of hiding, Harry’s relationship with the rest of the student body had gone from pained to excruciatingly confusing. He should have known it would be bad, after his inexplicable absence since Sunday, but he had just hoped (foolishly) that everyone had better things to gossip about than him. 

Hermione had actually looked relieved when he had come into the Hall, and Harry was sure she was about to come over to him, until Ron grabbed her arm and pulled her back down next to the rest of the Gryffindor Fourth Years. Harry didn’t think their glares weren’t quite as unified as they had been, but he slipped onto the end of the bench with a swell of hurt inside him. 

That hurt was followed by anger. He had enough to deal with without their pettiness and now he had people who were going to help him no matter what, so why did he even need them? Lyra had even openly waved at him from the Slytherin table… although that really hadn’t helped with his old dorm mates. Harry squashed down his feelings and had eaten the breakfast Snape had recommended, adding a large grapefruit half to the mix as well – without Aunt Petunia sneering at him over it, he actually really liked it.

Then the Prophet had arrived. 

Harry had exited the Hall as soon as he saw the first owl, unwilling to knowingly sit there as his once friends once again decided to read about him, over and above actually talking to him. Although Snape had given him a long lecture on the fact that it wasn’t safe for him to be wandering around under his invisibility cloak (which apparently the entire staff was aware of, Snape had informed him irritably) as he risked falling and not being found, Harry reasoned that that had never happened in the past and it was for the sake of his sanity that he still kept it on him at all times. 

Between the few lessons Snape had allowed him to attend, Harry threw the cloak over himself as soon as he was out of the door. Oftentimes he could hear Hermione calling after him. He knew that she wanted to talk to him, but every time he was about to cave and let her catch up, he remembered that she had ignored him and everything that had happened to him for the last three weeks. Sometimes his brain would switch the resentment to the last four years, if he wasn’t concentrating. Either way, he was just too angry to deal with her right now.

His resolve was strengthened when he did sneak up on Ron and Hermione talking in hushed voices.

At first, Harry had been so pleased, to the extent he had nearly thrown off his Cloak then and there. Hermione had been saying that the retraction proved that everything had been blown out of proportion and that if Crouch had said he didn’t enter his name…

“Hermione, seriously,” Ron had interrupted. “Don’t you think Harry would have gone to the teachers sooner if he really hadn’t put him name in? I want to believe he didn’t do it as well, but they didn’t say how they know he didn’t put it in, did they? And they probably don’t know he was out all that evening when the names were being entered. We just have to face it: Harry wanted the attention and now he gets double telling everyone he’s innocent. I can't put up with it anymore!”

Harry was not at all guilty that he had rammed Ron into the wall after that. The squawked “Harry!?” had been the icing on the cake.

The problem was, he couldn’t ram everyone into the wall, and everyone seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Ron. The Hufflepuffs were being slightly less horrible, now that Cedric had been properly acknowledged, but they had all kept wearing the Potter Stinks badges until McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout had ganged up and started taking points and giving detention to anyone caught wearing one where they could see it, on the grounds that it was blatant bullying. According to what Harry had overheard, even Snape was being very strict about authorised uniform accessories.

Harry was at once grateful for the help with the more overt bullying, and cross that they hadn’t done anything about it before. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t known what the badges said all along. Snape had even had the entirety of a potion’s class flashing the badge across the room and had done nothing. Once again, it seemed like too little too late and was bourn entirely out of pity, which Harry hated.

He scowled at some mud on the ground as Hannah Abbott wandered by with her garish accessory loudly proclaiming her support for Cedric. It wasn’t as if he needed the badges to remind him that no one at the school viewed him as their champion. At least this way he knew that Mrs Abbott hadn’t spilled the beans. He wondered how the social worker would react if she knew how her daughter and her friends were behaving.

Squinting through Honeyduke’s window display, Harry could just make out Lyra standing by the racks of speciality sweets. He hoped she wasn’t about to tell him that blood pops were good for anaemia. He slipped in through the door and – overcome by a wave of cheekiness – snuck up behind her. 

“Boo!” he hissed.

She jumped a mile in the air and spun round. “Don’t do that!” she scolded, laughing.

Harry grinned. He was quickly forgiven for his prank and they made their way through the sweet shop, following Lyra’s lead as she had arrived early to ‘case the joint’, as she put it. Despite the fact that Lyra insisted on humming some random tune under her breath, which she seemed to expect Harry to know, and ducking in and out of the displays like a spy on one of the cheesy television programmes Harry had occasionally caught glimpses of, they managed to find everything with minimal extra attention thrown their way.

It would have gone quicker if Lyra had behaved herself and she also had a tendency to find another corner of confectionary whenever Harry thought they were done. By the time Lyra finally agreed they could go to the till, he had more sweets than even Ron would know what to do with, he thought with a pang. Still, as Lyra pointed out, he had been showing a certain fondness for sweet things recently, and at least now he would stop mooching off her. 

Harry had blushed at that. It wasn’t as if he had asked her to shove chocolate frogs and liquorice wands into his hands whenever they passed in the corridor, or met in the library. Now he had a large supply of every type of sweet Honeydukes had to offer, it seemed, and maybe he could repay the favour.

Honestly though, the one thing he would count as a consistent ‘craving’, as Lyra kept insisting, wasn’t sweets, but frozen peas, which he just found too embarrassing to tell. Since Snape had given him permission (sort of) to eat in the bedroom, he had taken to calling Nippy and requesting small bowls of frozen peas to nibble on. Harry remembered when he was little and would steal handfuls sometimes when he was helping prepare dinner, but those memories weren’t that good and he didn’t remember them being as mouth-watering as he now found them. 

They exited the shop munching on a liquorice wand each and Harry could honestly say that – with the sun shining, the scene crystal clear with his new glasses, and Lyra blocking the majority of the glares – he felt more human than he had in weeks, even with the First Task around the corner. 

He dropped his free hand back to his stomach, where it had been gravitating all day and glanced at Lyra out of the corner of his eye. He so wanted to tell her about his little bump, despite the still niggling feeling, at the back of his mind, that was convinced she must be a true Slytherin, manipulating the situation to her own ends, despite the fact there was absolutely no evidence to support that thought. He felt he needed to make it a real reality, though; so unlike how he had responded to his first bump, when he had been convinced that he was just finally gaining weight and ignored the signs of his little Rowan… but if he told and it became real, wouldn’t it just hurt all the more if something did go horribly wrong on Tuesday? And if that did happen, would the Prophet still report everything? And-

Blissfully unaware of her friend’s internal meltdown, Lyra sighed contentedly. “A couple of my friends said they were going to go to the Three Broomsticks around now. Do you want to go and meet them? I’m sure they’d love to meet you. They’ve been asking where I’ve been running off to all week.” 

Harry stopped dead.

Lyra had been great fitting in with Harry’s curtailed schedule. Whenever they had an overlapping free period they had met in the library – Harry didn’t want to test Snape’s patience by her being in his quarters without permission – she would squirrel them away in a hidden gem in a corner behind the Muggle Studies area, with over-stuffed, rarely used armchairs and windows on both sides, avoiding Viktor Krum, who always seemed to be in there, and she would help him with his homework. While Harry knew that she must have friends who she was neglecting to be with him (he had seen her with them at meals and stuff), she had never once mentioned them and had never pushed for Harry to interact with them. 

Harry just didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Lyra had been there. She knew what was going on… some of it… Harry didn’t think he could cope with pretending nothing had happened with complete strangers, who were probably Cedric’s friends as well and… he just didn’t want to talk to people.

“I- I- um-” Harry stammered.

Lyra’s face softened. “It’s all right, it was just a suggestion. What would you like to do?”

Harry sighed in relief, “I-”

“’Arry!” a voice boomed out. Harry turned round, knowing exactly who would be there. Unfortunately, Hagrid was with Professor Moody. Whatever Snape’s feelings about the man, there was no way Harry could get out of this, he smiled up at Hagrid.

Hagrid beamed down at him as the two teachers drew close. Harry’s smile faltered, noticing how much attention they were no getting with the two most noticeable people in Hogwarts (and that included Dumbledore) standing with them.

“’Arry, ‘aven’t seen yeh in class,” Hagrid commented jovially.

“Same,” Moody said, his eye swivelling madly.

Harry swallowed, “Sorry, Professor Flitwick offered to give me extra lessons as preparation for the First Task. They overlap with some of my classes,” he lied. That had been the cover he had been told, and it was partly true – Flitwick had given him a few private sessions in the evenings. They had been a bit weird – making him sit and relax for the first twenty minutes and then thinking through protective applications of spells between tries, with Flitwick scribbling down reams of notes that would make Hermione proud. Still, at least now he could do the summoning charm without worries.

“Good thinking,” Moody said gruffly.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither Lyra nor Harry sure of what they were supposed to say.

“You’re not in my class,” Moody growled at Lyra so suddenly that she jumped.

“No, sir,” she squeaked.

Moody nodded, “Why don’t you go talk to Hagrid, Potter, and Miss..?”

“Fawley,” Lyra supplied.

“And I discuss her subject choices.”

Lyra looked completely disconcerted by the entire thing, but it was hard to argue with Hagrid when he had his hand on your shoulder. Moody wasn’t really that intimidating, Harry rationalised, he just didn’t blink much…

“Yeh all right, ‘Arry,” Hagrid asked, glancing back at Lyra.

Harry was sure the friendly man hadn’t been told anything, “Sure, Hagrid. I’m fine. Just… the Tournament and everything.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Hagrid said. “Jest surprised to see yeh with a Slytherin, is all. Anyway, we can’ be seen together, yeh see.” Harry didn’t point out that everyone could see them, even if Hagrid was making a good effort at acting inconspicuous. “Don’ wan’ ‘em getting suspicious. Jest, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear yer Cloak.”

“Um…” but Hagrid was already wandering back to Moody. 

“Better be goin’, Pr’fessor,” he boomed.

Moody leered at Lyra and stumped away.

Lyra stood frozen for a moment before shaking herself out of the stupor and joining Harry.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“No idea,” Harry said. “Hagrid wants me to meet him at his cabin at midnight.” He frowned. There was no way Snape was going to agree to this, although Hagrid had seemed very insistent about the whole thing.

Lyra snorted, “Good luck with that. What do you want to do? They sell baby clothes at Gladrags and there usually aren’t that many students in. We could go have a quick sneaky peak?”

Harry shook his head, “I actually think I’m going to head back.”

“Really?” Lyra looked disappointed. “Are you sure?”

He was. The conversation with Hagrid had disconcerted him, he had seen Rita Skeeter handing around the Three Broomsticks and the stares might not have been as bad as they usually were, but it was still far from perfect. Plus, he just had too much to think about, with the baby and the gut churning, looming First Task, to enjoy Hogsmeade. “I’m sure. I only really needed the glasses. You have fun.”

Although Lyra initially wanted to walk Harry back up to the castle, in the end he persuaded her to go and meet up with her friends and allow him to walk up on his own.

Harry sighed in relief as he started to wend his way back up the path to the castle. He rubbed at his eyes under his new glasses, still getting used to not having to strain to see what was right in front of him. In many ways, everything he had ever dreamed of was happening, but it was all in the wrong way. Why could nothing ever be simple?

“Harry!”

Speaking of not simple.

Harry spun round to find Hermione running up behind him, her bobble hat bouncing madly. They were near the Shrieking Shack and there wasn’t anybody about, apart from Ron, who was loitering sulkily ten metres behind. 

“What, Hermione?” he snapped.

Hermione stopped short and blushed. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Harry laughed humourlessly, “Never better.”

“I like you’re glasses,” Hermione said, clearly reaching for small talk. “They really suit you. I’ve thought for ages you needed new ones.”

“Really?” Harry said sarcastically. “I’m glad you approve.”

“That’s not what I-” Hermione frowned, squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “You needn’t be so rude. I was just trying to be nice. I’ve been worried about you…”

Harry scoffed, “You’ve had a nice way of showing it.”

Harry turned round and started to walk. Before he could get too far, though, Hermione had sprinted in front of him. Harry sighed and stepped to the right, but she blocked him. He stepped to the left with the same result. As much as he was angry with her, Harry didn’t want to just push past her.

“Let me through,” Harry demanded.

“No. You need to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” Harry said angrily. He could feel Ron lurking behind him and really hated the feeling of being hemmed in. He wished the git would just say something. Part of him had been begging for a full on shouting match for weeks.

Hermione ignored him. “I saw you on Sunday and then… And you’re barely coming to lessons… have you any idea how worried we all were?”

“Not at all, I imagine,” Harry said. “You don’t want me in Gryffindor anymore. Remember? What does it matter to any of you where I was, or what I was doing?”

“Harry, we really do miss you. Both of us,” she gestured behind Harry to where he knew Ron was standing. Harry glared at the ground. She sounded close to tears. “It’s just-”

“Just nothing,” Harry retorted. “I said I didn’t put my name in the Goblet and you didn’t believe me. The Prophet said I didn’t put my name in the Goblet and you didn’t believe me. Neither of you can think that after you’ve been ignoring me…” Harry’s throat tightened and he looked away.

“Harry-”

“Are you going to apologise?”

“No, I- We haven’t done anything wrong, Harry,” Hermione insisted belligerently.

Harry huffed.

“I’m serious,” she continued. “It wasn’t us who threw you out and I told you to go to Professor McGonagall-”

“And it’s not like you could have helped me with that, is it,” Harry spat. “Look, forget it. I’m not in the mood for this and frankly I have more important things to worry about. I’ll just go back to being an attention seeking git, or whatever it was you two think of me.”

Hermione flinched.

“Harry, you can’t seriously think… I know you’ve been hiding something. You’ve been secretive since before Halloween.”

“So that naturally means I put my name in the Goblet,” Harry snapped.

Hermione sighed, “I tried to talk to you rationally-”

“How?” Harry demanded. “You haven’t tried to talk to me in weeks. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”

“Yes I do, Harry!” she shouted. “I remember from last year when you didn’t talk to me because of a stupid broom!”

“That was because you went behind my back!” Harry yelled through gritted teeth. “And I knew you were keeping a secret all year and I didn’t stop talking to you because of that, did I? So don’t start making me out to be the hypocrite.”

Hermione was crying now and he could hear Ron stumbling forward, but before either of them could respond, Harry jumped round Hermione and legged it up the path. It wasn’t until he was well ahead that he dared to turn around, to see Ron and Hermione walking back into Hogsmeade, walking closely together, clearly talking, probably all thoughts of Harry forgotten.

…

After checking up and down the corridor that he was alone, Harry whispered the password to Snape’s Quarters and slipped in. That was the first time he had entered the rooms alone without his Cloak on and he was terrified a Slytherin would spot him. 

Harry stepped further into the room and stopped dead when he saw Snape sitting on the sofa. Harry gulped. Strangely, even though Harry was staying in his rooms, Harry had actually seen Snape less this week than in all his time at Hogwarts. 

Harry had woken up after his trip to London and found himself covered with a blanket with a pile of Liquorice Wands in front of him. He had naturally been extremely embarrassed; even more so when he saw Snape sitting opposite him, sipping a cup of tea and reading a journal. Snape had just grunted when he’d seen that Harry was awake and pointed him into the kitchen where a steaming dinner of chicken risotto and green vegetables had been waiting for them.

“This is iron and vitamin c rich, so Madam Pomfrey will be satisfied,” Snape grumbled. “If the chicken is unpleasant for you, please tell me and avoid making a mess.”

Harry had just thanked him and fallen on the meal. The light, but filling food warmed him all the way through and was far more appealing than anything else he had eaten recently. Harry wolfed it down so quickly that it was only when his plate was three quarters empty that he caught sight of Snape’s face. The professor looked absolutely disgusted. Harry had blushed to the roots of his hair and quickly apologised. 

“Sorry, sir,” Harry had muttered.

Snape rolled his eyes, “I suppose I should just be grateful you are eating something, although do try not to make yourself sick.”

Harry had just nodded, kept his head down and finished the meal at a more sedate pace. It was afterwards when everything had gone wrong. 

“I should inform you your Aunt and Uncle were arrested this morning,” Snape had stated, as he cleared the dirty plates to the sink.

Harry had choked on his pumpkin juice, “R-really, sir?” 

“I would not have said it, if it were not true,” Snape said irritably.

“Of course, sir,” Harry sipped his pumpkin juice. “What will happen to Dudley?” 

Snape whipped round, “Your cousin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why do you wish to know?” he sounded mystified.

Harry shrugged, “I dunno. I just… I don’t think he’ll cope very well and… well, it’s all my fault and-”

“Hardly,” Snape interrupted, po-faced. “I do not know what the plans are for your cousin, but if it will put your mind at rest, I will add discovering his circumstances to my not inconsiderable list.”

“I didn’t mean- I mean, I don’t want to put you out, sir.”

“Enough,” Snape sighed. “There is, unfortunately for both of us, Potter, something more pressing I need to discuss with you, if you feel satisfactorily rested.”

Harry quickly replaced his goblet and nodded. Snape raised an eyebrow and Harry blurted out, “Yes, sir.”

Snape sighed again and retook his seat. He paused, seeming to carefully weigh up what he intended to say. Harry was growing more alarmed by the second. Was Snape going to throw him out, because he fell asleep after making him go and get sweets? Had something gone wrong with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon? Had he heard something and now thought that Harry was making the whole thing up? Had Madam Pomfrey told him something was wrong with the baby when she had gone to the floo?

Harry was ready to collapse, by the time Snape said, “The Headmaster received information from the Prophet that they are aware of your circumstances.”

Harry felt himself pale. He started shaking. That hadn’t been on his list of potential disasters, but it was awful. He didn’t want people to know… ever, if possible. He could barely get his head round all of this as it was and everyone in the school would destroy him if this got out before the First Task. Malfoy would be even more unbearable when he knew how much Harry had to lose and he hadn’t had time to think everything through and...

“How?” he asked in a strangled voice.

“That will be investigated,” Snape said.

“Mrs Abbott, maybe? Or-”

“No,” Snape said. “There is no need for baseless accusations and you would do well to know that all social workers at the WCS take confidentiality oaths. Mrs Abbott would be unable to take your case to the press, even if she was unscrupulous enough to do so.” 

“I didn’t mean-” Harry began.

“What did you mean?” Snape snapped. “I would have thought you of all people would understand the dangers of slander.”

Harry stopped breathing. Did that mean he had heard something at Privet Drive? Did he believe it? Hopefully he just meant Skeeter. Best to feign ignorance.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I didn’t mean to slander anyone, sir, I was just asking.” Harry finally said with his head held high.

Snape held eye contact with and iron gaze. Harry was sure there was an emotion in those obsidian eyes somewhere, but he couldn’t tell what it was.

“So, they’re going to print in the papers that I’m pregnant?” he managed to keep his voice even.

Just as evenly, Snape answered, “Yes.”

“And… my uncle?”

“That you were raped. Yes.”

Harry lowered his eyes to the table, ignoring the prickling. “And Rowan?”

“I believe so, Mr Potter,” Snape said, almost gently. “But the Headmaster has managed to persuade the editor that the article can be withheld from publication until after the First Task. He was unable to extend the delay beyond that point.”

Harry looked up, confused, “Really? Why?” he couldn’t imagine anybody like Rita Skeeter doing anything for anyone else.

“In the meantime, they have also agreed to print a retraction to the twoddle that was printed earlier this week,” Snape said, not answering the question. 

“That’s good,” Harry said in a small voice.

“The Headmaster and I decided it would best for your mental state if your condition remained private until the risks of the First Task had been dealt with. And in the meantime it gives you an opportunity to contact anyone you may wish to.”

“Sirius,” Harry said. “I can write to Sirius?”

Snape gritted his teeth. Harry swallowed. He had momentarily forgotten how Snape felt about his godfather. 

“Certainly, Mr Potter,” Snape growled. He continued, “The other purpose behind the delay is that your condition and the means by which it was reached could be utilised by less salubrious members of the wizarding community to insight hatred against muggles. It behoves us to draft a suitable statement to curb such actions.”

“Huh?” Harry said, attempting to follow that train of language while simultaneously trying to figure out how on earth he could write to Sirius.

Snape made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, “News of your pregnancy and the treatment you suffered at the hands of your relatives could be used as a rallying cry for the Death Eaters. You are aware of their motives?” Harry nodded – they had been the ones at the World Cup. “We think it prudent that you write, or at least put your name to a statement that should serve to discourage violence against muggles being perpetrated in your name.”

Harry nodded slowly, understanding now. It had nothing to do with him really. They weren’t stopping the newspapers because it would stop him being hurt more than he already had been. He might have known. No one had thought to stop Skeeter from writing the pack of lies in the first place.

“So, that’s it. Keep everyone calm and it doesn’t matter that they’re all going to find out I’m a weak idiot who let himself get pushed around by his uncle, is that it?” Harry demanded, feeling himself shaking in his seat. “It doesn’t matter that I’m going to be humiliated, or that all that stuff is going to be used against me until the day I die.”

“Potter,” Snape warned. 

“No, I know that all that matters is that I stand there and be the good little Boy Who Lived, but guess what, Snape, I don’t want to be that anymore.”

“That’s quite enough,” Snape said, gliding to his feet. “You are overwrought and-” 

“I am not overwrought!” Harry shouted. “I am angry. Why do I have to write an article telling people not to hurt muggles, when it shouldn’t even be about that!?”

“I thought you didn’t want the article to be about the baby,” Snape said snidely. “You should just remember, Mr Potter, that without the Headmaster’s intervention you would not have any warning or contribution in the matter whatsoever. He has provided you with the opportunity to make some good from the situation.”

“So I’m supposed to be grateful?” Harry asked. “Dumbledore finally decides to actually help me and it’s just so I can protect muggles?”

Snape was looking at him with the same almost-loathing that had characterised their interactions since Harry had arrived at Hogwarts. It was only now that look was back again that he realised how much softer Snape had been being.

“I am going to assume that your temper has got ahead of your mouth and you do not actually think that your own feelings are more important than people’s lives,” he hissed dangerously.

“That’s not-” Harry quavered.

“Enough,” Snape snapped. “Mr Potter, I think it best that you go to bed, since you have had a long and trying day, I am sure. We can discuss this when you are calmer.”

Harry slowly got up, not daring to look Snape in the eye and see the burning ire there, and trudged back to his room… no, it wasn’t his room; it was just Snape’s guest room that he was being allowed to stay in for a while, because no one else wanted him.

Just as he reached his door, he heard Snape call to him, “Don’t forget your liquorice, since you were so insistent.”

His eyes burned with shame and his chest felt like it was being squeezed. He turned round and hurried into the living room. Feeling ridiculous and more than a bit sick he grabbed up the handful of sweets and practically ran into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

That had been five days ago and since then – apart from the next morning when Snape had handed him his ridiculously empty schedule and told him that he would be eating his meals in the Great Hall from now on – Harry had only caught glimpses of the potions master as he made his way to bed. It was six of one, half a dozen of the other: Snape was never in the rooms when Harry had a free period and Lyra wasn’t around, so he came back to the rooms for a much needed nap; and Harry had made a point of staying out of the way until well after dinner and then going straight to the bedroom when he got back from the library, or Flitwick’s lessons. Even yesterday, on Saturday when neither of them had anywhere to be, they had assiduously managed to avoid each other. Snape had left him a note with his supplement potion that morning, with instructions for the occulist. 

Now, Harry knew he couldn’t run into the bedroom without looking like a complete prat. Especially as he needed to ask the professor’s permission to go to Hagrid’s tonight… there was no way he would be able to sneak out and live to tell the tale.

Snape seemed to have gone through a similar thought process, as he put down his journal and ordered Harry to, “Sit,” gesturing to Harry’s favoured armchair. 

Harry slid into place. He glanced around awkwardly, trying to find a place to rest his gaze other than the imposing potions master.

Snape snorted, “I refuse to have a conversation with someone paying more attention to a potted plant.”

Harry still refused to look up.

“Potter. Look. At. Me.” Snape ordered.

Harry finally dragged his eyes to meet the professor’s. As soon as their eyes met, Snape looked disturbed.

Harry waited a minute, “Um… Professor?”

Snape shook himself out of it, “Yes, Potter. You managed to go to the occulist, I see.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, touching his new glasses with a small smile. “I got three pairs, like you said.”

“Good,” was all Snape said.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t think of a thing.

“I received news that your cousin is to remain at his school as a boarder for the rest of this term, as the fees were pre-paid,” Snape said. “After that he will either go to his aunt, or into the care system. I assume that is adequate information to sate your interest.”

Harry blushed at the overt reminder of Tuesday’s conversation and nodded, “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Snape waved that aside, “I trust you have been well the last few days?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have been eating adequately?”

“Yes sir.”

“And your lessons with Professor Flitwick?”

“Fine, sir. I can do the summoning charm now,” he added for the sake of politeness. He doubted Snape cared.

“Acceptable,” Snape nodded. “When your new timetable is fixed, regular lessons with members of staff will be added to supplement your ordinary lessons.”

“New timetable?” Harry questioned. What was wrong with his old timetable… apart from Divination?

Snape looked at him like he was utterly stupid, “Lessons which are unsuitable while you are pregnant will have to be removed from your timetable, Mr Potter, as I’m sure you must have realised.”

Harry looked horrified, “But… but I’ll fall behind! OWLs and-”

“If you recall, Mr Potter,” Snape purred. “I did explain that your professors will endeavour to make sure you are prepared for you exams when the time comes, but in the meantime, book learning will have to suffice for certain subjects.”

“But…” Harry couldn’t imagine what his year would be like if his schedule was like this week. “So… only theory lessons? Like this week? But Professor Flitwick-”

“Think, boy!” Snape snapped. Harry shrank back. He sounded too much like Uncle Vernon when Harry had something stupid… which was all the time. Snape watched him for a second, before continuing, marginally more gently, “This week was an extreme. It is likely that you will not be able to attend the more volatile classes, such as Care of Magical Creatures, but there are ways round the dangers of presented by most of the subjects and provision will be made. It would be sensible, however, to streamline your timetable, so as to maximise your effective working.”

Harry nodded hesitantly. It still sounded like he was going to fall behind, but Snape wasn’t about to listen to his opinion. It was only his life, after all.

Snape sighed, “I wished to enquire whether or not you had contacted your… godfather?” Snape’s face twisted unpleasantly on the last word.

Harry shook his head. Snape frowned. “No! I mean, no I didn’t write to him, but only because he wrote to me before I could send it. The letter, I mean.”

“The Headmaster intimated that you and he wished to speak more directly.”

“I- yeah. In his letter he said Dumbledore had explained everything and he would talk to me at one o’clock… tomorrow morning... this morning..? but I don’t know how or anything.”

“The Headmaster informed me of Black’s desire and I have agreed to give him me floo address for the purposes of a call,” it looked like it physically pained him.

“Th- Thank you, sir,” Harry stuttered. After a moment’s silence, he offered, “He wasn’t cross, or anything.”

“Why would he be?” Snape asked.

“I mean, he said Dumbledore told him everything. That means the baby and everything and he… he still wants to talk to me,” Harry said nervously. Part of him had been so convinced that Sirius would tell him what a disappointment his parents would have found him and left him for scrap. That was why he hadn’t dared write to him in the first place.

Snape rolled his eyes and drawled, “Yes, that was the inevitable reaction.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, but didn’t respond. Of course Snape wouldn’t understand.

“Trust Black to pick such an inconvenient time as one o’clock in the morning,” Snape grumbled. “And on a school night. But, it’s too late to change the time.”

“I don’t think he had much choice about it,” Harry defended.

Snape arched an eyebrow.

Fed up with the scrutiny, Harry clutched at his two bags, “I’ll just go put these things away, sir, if that’s okay,” he gave a breathy laugh. “Lyra made me nearly buy out Honeydukes and I need to put it away.”

“A stasis charm on any container will prevent the foodstuffs from spoiling,” Snape supplied. “You are able to perform an adequate stasis charm?”

They learnt that one in second year, Harry internally grumbled. Of course he could do it. It was one of his best charms. It would certainly have come in useful at the Dursleys. Keeping these thoughts to himself, Harry said through gritted teeth, “Yes, sir. And I still have my book to check it.”

Snape nodded once sharply, “And you have a suitable container?”

“Yes, sir,” well… he could just use his old book bag, since Mrs Weasley had insisted he got a sturdier one while they were in London.

Finally satisfied, Snape gave him permission to leave. Harry jumped up, but just as he was about to leave the room and have a few hours alone with his bump, he remembered.

“Sir?”

Snape sighed and made a big show of replacing his book on the coffee table.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “I know it’s against the rules and honestly I usually wouldn’t ask, but he was so insistent, and I think it’s got something to do with the task and I promise to be careful and-”

“What, Mr Potter, are you talking about?” Snape intoned. 

Harry blushed, but stood his ground. He had never had to ask permission before going out before and it was just too weird a feeling. He took a deep breath, “Hagrid stopped me in Hogsmeade and asked me to meet him at his cabin at midnight with my Cloak. I know it’s against the rules, but he made it sound really important and he is a teacher and-”

Snape cut him off with a raised hand before he could build up a head of steam again. He looked calculatingly at Harry, “I think, so long as you exercise discretion, it is imperative that you attend this rendezvous with Hagrid.”

Harry’s eyes widened. That was… unexpected.

“Th- Thank you, sir.”

“Go and rest,” Snape sighed, picking his book back up.

With nothing else to do, Harry turned to hi- the bedroom door and went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update 23rd November. Please leave a review!
> 
> We’re nearly at the First Task!!! The action picks up in the next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extracts from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire Chapter 19 The Hungarian Horntail and Chapter 20 The First Task – all this text obviously belongs only to JK Rowling and I am simply borrowing it. 
> 
> This is Sunday-Monday. Sorry again for the anachronism.

Harry sprinted through the dungeon corridors, determined to reach Snape’s Quarters in time to speak to his godfather and wanting to put as much space between him and the dragons as possible. For the first time he understood why Snape was bothered about him wearing his Cloak, as he tripped and stumbled his way down the stairs. 

He didn’t even pause to catch his breath before gasping out the password and practically falling through the doorway, straight into Snape’s arms. 

“Potter!” he exclaimed. “What’s the matter with you?”

The man slammed the door shut and dragged Harry over to his armchair. 

“What happened?” he demanded. When Harry didn’t respond, Snape growled and summoned Nippy for the now inevitable pot of peppermint tea, but this time it wasn’t working. Harry gripped the mug Snape pressed into his hands, but he was shaking so much he couldn’t lift it to his lips.

“Snape! What did you do to him!?” a familiar voice bellowed.

Harry’s head snapped up so fast he swore he heard a crunch. Ignoring the pain now radiating through his shoulder, he frantically searched the room for his godfather.

“Black,” Snape spat. “On time, I see.”

“What did you do to him, Snivellus? I knew letting him stay with you was a mistake. If you’ve hurt him, I’m swear I’ll kill you.”

“Let him? If you think you have any sway over this situation-”

“Sirius?” Harry wheezed, finally finding his godfather’s disembodied head sitting in the fire, like Mr Diggory’s had at the Burrow. He leapt up and lurched over to the fireplace. Snape snatched the mug out of his hands before it could be upset, chuntering as he set it on the coffee table.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, all concerns momentarily melting away as he took in the sight of his godfather. Despite the deep set worry lines etched into his face, Sirius seemed far healthier than he had been last time Harry had seen him. He had put on a bit of weight and had a haircut – Harry doubted even Aunt Petunia would have recognised him as the crazed convict everyone had been so worried about last year. The only real sign of his time in Azkaban was the flat, dead look in his eyes that hadn’t been erased yet. He felt even guiltier now that Sirius had left whatever tropical island he had been hiding on, to come and fret over him.

“Never mind me, are you all right?” Sirius asked, searching Harry’s face for any sign that Snape had hurt him.

“I’m…” Harry didn’t know how to answer. There was no way he could say fine, like he wanted to. If Sirius did know about the baby and his name being put in the Goblet and why he was living with Snape and the fact that his relatives had been arrested and that he was basically homeless, despite having multiple houses, then he would never believe Harry was fine.

Snape had slipped down beside Harry to kneel in front of the fire, although leaving enough space between them that it wasn’t a remotely intimate position.

“How do you think he is, Black?”

“I wasn’t asking you, Snivellus,” Sirius shot back. “And just you wait. I’ll tell Dumbledore exactly what I saw-”

“And what did you see, Black?” Snape scoffed. “Your godson had just fallen on top of me, in the midst of a panic attack and I was attempting to calm him down.”

“Very likely!” Sirius growled. 

“Sirius!” Harry exclaimed. “It’s true, I swear. Sn- Professor Snape’s been really good this week. I’ve got a nice room and food… he even went and got me liquorice wands when I asked for some.”

Snape openly stared at Harry, looking flummoxed. Harry blushed. He wasn’t lying about any of it – Harry did honestly appreciate the efforts Snape had made and he wasn’t about to bring up the fact that he had been avoiding Harry for the last five days, especially when it was partly his fault. 

Sirius’ eyes twitched between them, “You don’t need to say that, Harry. I can get you out of there.”

“Sirius!” Harry was getting annoyed now. This was not the support he needed. “I’m telling the truth and so is Snape.”

Sirius deflated, “Why are you so upset then?”

Harry snorted, “I thought you knew what was going on.”

“Dumbledore just said in his letter that staying with Snape and are being taken away from your relatives,” Sirius looked desperate. “Please, Harry, tell me what’s going on. This is the first time I’ve been near a wizarding community, which is why I haven’t been able to contact you properly before. I only know what you’ve said in your letters. If Snape’s done something please tell me so I can help!”

Harry’s tried to just tell his godfather he was fine and reassure him again that Snape wasn’t the one responsible, but somewhere between that decision and his mouth, things changed. 

Neither man interrupted once, as he told Sirius about how everyone still didn’t believe that he hadn’t entered the Tournament himself; about being thrown out of Gryffindor; about Ron and Hermione’s attitude and how much that hurt; how everyone sneered at him in the corridors; how Rita Skeeter had taken his life and twisted it into her own little ego trip and now he had to hand his reputation over to the Prophet again. 

Finally, he told his godfather, who was goodness knows how far away, about the Dursleys – the cupboard, Harry Hunting, punishments, and his uncle. He told him about Rowan and how he knew he was pregnant now. He explained about Snape and the rooms and his lessons and shopping and…

“… and now Hagrid’s just shown me what’s coming in the First Task, and it’s dragons, Sirius, and I’m a goner and so is the baby and-”

Snape laid a hand on his shoulder, causing Harry to jump out of the panic attack he was once again working himself into. Harry slumped to sit on the hearth rug and gratefully sipped the freshened peppermint tea Snape guided to his lips. The soothing smell calmed him down.

“You see, Black,” Snape growled. “I have no need to damage your precious godson. Life is doing a good enough job of that without my help.”

Sirius didn’t respond to Snape’s needling, he was too busy staring at Harry like he was about to turn to dust at a moment’s notice. 

“Harry,” he choked. “Harry, I’m so sorry. I…”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Harry sniffed.

“But I do,” Sirius moaned. “If I hadn’t been so stupid… if I hadn’t gone after Pettigrew.”

“Ifs and buts are hardly helpful,” Snape said. 

“Snape!”

“That’s not important, Sirius,” Harry interrupted, before a full scale row could erupt again. “The dragon. I can’t face a dragon. The baby…”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, as Harry started hyperventilating yet again and wafted the peppermint tea under his nose. Harry rolled his eyes and pushed the mug away. Although it had always helped before, Harry couldn’t help but be irritated by having it shoved on him all the time.

Sirius didn’t lose his concerned look, but took a deep breath and said, “All right. Dragons we can deal with. That’s not my main concern.”

“But, they’re dragons!” Harry yelped.

Next to him, Snape sighed, “Loth though I am to say it, Black is right. Dragons are easily dealt with.”

“Then… please don’t start bashing Snape, Sirius, I’m really not up to it.”

Sirius muttered something inaudible, but then said, “I won’t, Harry, don’t worry. Listen, I don’t have much time. I had to break into a house to use their fireplace and they could be back at any minute.”

“You didn’t check to see how long they’d be gone?” Snape said, disbelieving.

Sirius narrowed his eyes, but ignored his school day nemesis. “Look, it all seems… irrelevant right now, but there are things you need to know… I don’t know who put your name in the Goblet-”

“It is being investigated, Black. You are not involved in that,” Snape said curtly.

“Fine then!” Sirius grouched. “Have you checked Karkaroff isn’t involved?”

“Karkaroff?” Harry exclaimed.

“He was a Death Eater – you know what a..? Good. He was in Azkaban when I was, but was released. I’d bet everything that’s why Dumbledore wanted Moody there this year, to keep an eye on him. Moody was the one who sent him to Azkaban in the first place.”

“Karkaroff was-”

“Then I would take everything,” Snape said smugly. “The Headmaster hired Moody because he was available and an experienced practitioner from whom the students could learn a great deal… if he weren’t such a raving lunatic. Karkaroff is a vacillating nincompoop who poses no threat, beyond to his students’ education.”

“Says you,” Sirius grumbled. “And anyway, once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.”

If looks could kill, Sirius would have dropped dead then and there.

“Why was Karkaroff released?” Harry asked, hoping to distract from the tension.

“He did a deal with the Ministry,” Sirius said bitterly. “He said he’d seen the error of his ways, and then he named names… he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place… he’s not popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he’s been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who walks passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang Champion.”

“Oh please,” Snape scoffed. “Durmstrang’s historic association with the Dark Arts is only because they have the sense to teach Dark Arts theory in tandem with defence.”

“You would say that,” Sirius said.

“I don’t think Karkaroff put my name in the Goblet,” Harry said, slowly, trying to get his head round all this information. “He was really angry when it happened.”

“We already know he’s a good actor,” Sirius pointed out.

“Black, before you dig yourself any deeper with this theory, Dumbledore himself eliminated Karkaroff from the suspect pool. He did not have anything to do with Potter’s place in the Tournament.” 

“Well, someone put it in there and whoever it was clearly wants my godson dead!”

Harry paled.

“Nicely done, Black,” Snape sighed.

“Harry, I didn’t mean that,” Sirius back-peddled. “It’s just… I’ve been reading the Daily Prophet-”

“You and everyone else,” Harry said bitterly.

“-and, reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman’s article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm,” Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry and Snape were about to speak, “but I don’t think so, somehow. I think someone tried to stop him getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one’s going to look into it too closely. Mad-Eye’s heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn’t mean he can’t spot the real thing.”

“Hero worshipping, Black?” Snape asked sarcastically. “You are remembering Moody as he was over a decade ago, and even then he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”

“Bitter, Snape?” Sirius sang mockingly.

Harry was confused, “What-?”

“Nothing,” Snape snapped.

Deciding not to get involved in whatever they were alluding to, Harry said in a small voice, “So… you think someone’s trying to kill me. But why?” Apart from stopping Voldemort when he was a baby, it wasn’t as if he had ever given anyone a reason to want him dead… apart from Malfoy every time he beat Slytherin at Quidditch, or the House Cup.

Sirius hesitated.

“I’ve been hearing some very strange things,” he said slowly. “The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn’t they? Someone set off the Dark Mark… and then – did you hear about the Ministry of Magic witch who’s gone missing?”

“Bertha Jorkins?” asked Harry.

“Exactly… she disappeared in Albania, and that’s definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last… and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn’t she?”

“Yeah, but it’s not very likely she’d have walked into Voldemort, is it?” Harry said.

“Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins,” Sirius said grimly. “She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It’s not a good combination, Harry. I’d say she’d be very easy to lure into a trap.”

“Nonsense,” Snape declared. “You have clearly had too much time to dwell of conspiracy theories.”

“Snape-”

“Karkaroff is a weak willed fool, who is so puffed up with pride that he has agreed to this competition. He know that if he were ever to return to the Dark Lord’s circle, he would likely be killed on the spot, considering those he betrayed. You yourself admitted that, so maybe you should try applying your great feats of logic to all the information available.”

Sirius looked sulky, but said nothing.

Snape continued, “And as for Bertha Jorkins, as you yourself said, she was an idiot. It is just as likely she went for a walk in the forest, decided to follow a fairy that turned out to be a wood elf and was led over a cliff.”

“But she was in Albania-”

“Where the Dark Lord was rumoured to be four years ago. Since when we know for a fact he has been in the UK for at least a year and after that, even Dumbledore doesn’t know where he went. Speculation and conspiracy theories are not what Potter needs from you, Black,” Snape pointed out.

Sirius looked at Harry and Harry knew how overwhelmed he must look, and he felt utterly exhausted after the day’s events.

“Harry, do you want… I don’t know, can you tell me about the… baby?” Sirius seemed extremely uncomfortable.

“The Healers say they’re healthy and I just need to eat better,” Harry said. “Look, Sirius. I can’t talk about it. If anything happens… the dragons,” he choked.

Snape shifted next to him, but Harry only had eyes for Sirius. His godfather looked lost for a second, before resolve melted onto his face.

“Right – these dragons,” he eventually said. “Don’t be tempted to use a Stunner – dragon hides are thick and far too magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner. You’d need half a dozen at once to make an impact.”

“Yeah, I know, I just saw,” Harry said, chewing on his lip. “I don’t think I’ll be anywhere near powerful enough to-”

“You can do it,” Sirius said. “You just need to keep it simple. Have you ever done a Conjunctivitis Charm?”

“Um…”

Snape snorted, “Really, Black? You want to make the fire-breathing monster blind and in pain? You of all people should know that is when a wild animal is most likely to attack.”

Harry swore the fire flared slightly and turned a darker shade of red.

“Now, listen here Snivellus-” 

Whatever Sirius was going to say to Snape was cut off as a shrill alarm sounded from behind Sirius.

“That’s the ward I set,” Sirius said, panicked. “They’re back. Listen, Harry, I promise everything will be all right. With the baby and everything… I’ll be there as soon as I can and will talk to Dumbledore and-”

“Sirius, go!” Harry shouted.

There was a pop and suddenly he was left alone with Snape again. Harry’s heart leapt to his chest. There were so many things he wanted to talk with Sirius about (alone) and now he had no idea when he would see him again and no idea if he had escaped.

“Mr Potter,” Snape said after a minute.

“Yes,” Harry said.

Snape peeled himself off the floor. “It is late.”

Harry glanced up on the clock on the mantle to see it was half past one in the morning, “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his face.

“Might I suggest you go to bed?” Snape said, in such a way that made it not a suggestion. “If you find yourself unable to sleep, perhaps a bath to help you relax.”

Harry almost laughed. Here he was, facing certain doom against a dragon and Snape was telling him to have a bath.

Perhaps reading his thoughts, Snape said, “We will discuss your dilemma tomorrow. There are a great many perfectly feasible options, but right now it would be best for both of us to sleep, otherwise we will not be operating at our full potential.”

To underline the point, Snape gently took Harry’s trembling arm and led him to the bedroom door. Harry was too exhausted to resist.

“You have no suitable classes tomorrow,” Snape said as he opened the door. “So I expect you to attempt to sleep in. We shall have a rational discussion of tactics tomorrow, but for now rest.” He pushed Harry through the door.

Harry looked up, confused. Just a second ago he had been talking with Sirius and just an hour ago he had had no idea what a fully grown dragon looked like up close, never mind had to think about going up against one of them. Harry blinked slowly, trying to get his brain to work. He hand dropped automatically to his belly as he felt his bump that might not be there in two days.

Still standing in the doorway, Snape saw the gesture and said softly, “We will endeavour to keep your baby safe, Mr Potter. Get some sleep.”

With those parting words, Harry was left alone in the uncertainty of darkness. 

…

The following morning Harry could not just sit still. He had woken slightly later than usual, thanks to a broken night of worrying about Sirius and the baby, and had therefore just missed Snape by the time he finally pulled himself out of bed. Harry was fairly certain Snape had planned it that way.

Even though he didn’t have any lessons scheduled for the day, and he was far too queasy to eat, Harry was fairly certain, if he didn’t show up for breakfast, Snape would still kill him, which would be a waste of effort since the dragon would probably do a much more efficient job tomorrow. He dragged on his clothes haphazardly and set off towards the Great Hall.

Making sure Snape saw him, he perched himself on the end of the Gryffindor table and nibbled the corner of a piece of toast, wrinkling his nose at anything stronger smelling. He tried not to think of the dragon he would be facing tomorrow, but that was about as effective as not thinking about pink elephants. 

Harry chanced a glance round the Hall, hoping to find something to distract him. Lyra waved at him from across the room, looking concerned, but Harry was staring past her. Cedric was sitting at his usual spot in the centre of the Hufflepuff table, watching over the lower years and chatting with his large group of friends, which seemed to span across the years and Houses. 

It might have been Harry projecting his own terror at the upcoming Task onto Cedric, but he couldn’t help but think that the easily popular Head Boy looked strained beneath his smile. As much as it was impossible for Harry, being left out in the cold, it Cedric must have found the expectations of everyone in the school difficult to bear. Merlin knew Harry had found it tough enough over the years trying to live up to the legend of the Boy Who Lived, and he didn’t have to perform any particular task for that.

Finally sensing Lyra’s increasingly irate gaze, Harry followed her nod and abandoned his breakfast. He met the Head Girl in their agreed alcove a corridor away from the Great Hall.

“I take it you’re ignoring me for a reason?” Lyra frowned. “You’re ridiculously pale. Are you sure you should be out of bed.”

“Dragons,” Harry said, unable to find a more rational way to explain what was going on in his head. “Hagrid showed me. The First Task is dragons.” 

Lyra just gaped at him. He had been hoping someone, somewhere would pop up with the solution to all his problems. Wasn’t that the whole point of… something.

“Are you sure?” Lyra eventually gasped.

“Very,” Harry said grimly. “I saw them last night.”

“You got past Professor Snape? Not important, sorry,” she shook her head. “Dragons… And you have to fight them?” she sounded scandalised.

“Just get past them, I think,” or at least, that was what Charlie had said. He swallowed his toast for a second time at the thought of having to fight one of those monsters .

“I-”

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry moaned. “Snape said he’s help, but that was last night and-”

“Harry, calm down. You’re really pale,” Lyra said, pulling Harry over to a window seat and pushing him down. It was only when he was sitting that he realised how dizzy he was.

“I forgot to take my supplement potion,” Harry groaned. “Snape always leaves it on the coffee table. I forgot to take it, I was so frazzled.”

“That’s completely understandable,” Lyra said, rubbing Harry’s back. “Look, I can’t go with you right now, as I have to get to charms, but you need to go, take your potion and lie down, or you’re going to end up in the Hospital Wing long before any dragon gets a look at you. We’ll talk it through later and… I don’t know, some transfiguration or something… a catch all plan. We’ll figure something out and even if we can’t, Professor Snape will, okay? You’re not doing this alone.”

“Yeah,” Harry took a deep breath. Lyra was right, he just needed to think properly and… “Cedric!”

“Are his friend’s giving you a problem again? Because, I swear I’ll-”

“No, Cedric’s the only one who doesn’t know. Madam Maxine and Karkaroff were both there last night and I bet you anything they’ll tell their Champions.”

Lyra frowned, “What do you want to do? I could give him a note or-”

“Is he in charms with you?”

“Yes, but-”

Harry leapt to his feet, swaying slightly until Lyra caught him, “I need to talk to him!”

Lyra looked sceptical, “Harry, I really don’t think you should be running round right now. I can tell him I heard it from someone and you could go-”

“Please, Lyra,” Harry begged, jumping from foot to foot like he had ants in his shoes. “I need to tell him. He might not believe you. If I don’t tell him and something happens… I have to tell him.”

Lyra regarded him for a few minutes, watching as he fell into what looked like a full on nervous breakdown. She sighed, “Fine, but only if you promise to go and lie down straight away afterwards. I promise I could pass on the message,” she grumbled, even as she started to lead the way to the charm’s corridor. 

When they arrived near Flitwick’s classroom, Lyra shoved Harry unceremoniously behind a conveniently located suit of armour. 

“Stay there,” she hissed.

Harry spied round the armour as Cedric finally appeared from breakfast, surrounded by load of sixth-years who still quoted the Prophet article at him every time they saw him nearby. Lyra accosted him outside the classroom and – after what looked like a lot of persuasion – ushered him over to Harry’s hiding place.

Cedric looked utterly embarrassed when he saw who was lurking there.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Lyra said grimly. “I’ll tell Professor Flitwick you’ll be a little late.” And with that she flitted into the classroom, shutting the door behind her and leaving the two Hogwarts Champions in uncomfortable silence in a very empty hall.

Cedric shifted for a second, “I suppose she wants me to apologise,” he smiled affably and shrugged. “I really didn’t ask for the badges and everything, but you know how it is-”

“Dragon,” Harry blurted out. “They’ve got four, one for each of us and we have to get past them.” He dared to glance round, to make sure no one was there. He didn’t want anyone to find out he was technically cheating.

Cedric stared at him. Harry saw some of the primal panic he had been feeling since last night flicker in Cedric’s eyes.

“Are you sure?” Cedric asked, in a hushed voice.

“Dead sure,” Harry nodded. “I’ve seen them.”

“But how did you find out? We’re not supposed to know…”

“Never mind,” Harry said quickly – he wasn’t about to get Hagrid in trouble when he was just helping. “But I know that Fleur and Krum will know by now – Maxine and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too.”

Cedric stared at Harry, with a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes.

“Why are you telling me?” he asked.

Harry looked at him, disbelieving. Of course he would tell Cedric. Why wouldn’t he? He knew Cedric would tell him. Any decent person would. Did that mean Cedric thought he was the sort of person who would just leave someone to face a lethal monster unprepared? Well, maybe if it were Malfoy…

“It’s just… fair, isn’t it?” he eventually said to Cedric. “We all know now… we’re on an even footing, aren’t we?”

Cedric still looked suspicious, but before he could say anything else, a familiar clunking noise echoed behind him. He turned round and saw that, sure enough, May-Eye Moody was emerging from a nearby classroom.

Harry sighed. He tried to do the right thing and it had back fired. 

“Come with me, Potter,” Moody growled. “Diggory, off you go.”

Cedric didn’t need to be told twice. He fled.

Harry stood stock still. Not only did he not want to find out if Moody had heard them cheating, he hated to think what Snape would say if he knew Harry had been alone with the DADA professor twice in two days.

“Er – Professor, I’m supposed to be in-”

“Never mind that, Potter. In my office, please…”

Seeing no way out of it, Harry followed him. It wasn’t like Snape actually had any reason to think Moody was actually trying to hurt Harry… in fact, for a while it had seemed the crazy man had been the only one who really believed him. And Sirius had made it sound like Snape and Moody had some sort of history… 

He just hoped Moody didn’t decide to turn him into a ferret for breaking the rules. He doubted the baby would like that. Still, Harry thought dully, as they entered Moody’s office, he’d be smaller, much less easy to see from a height of fifty feet.

Moody closed the door behind them and turned to look at Harry, his magical eye fixed on him as well as his normal one.

“That was a very decent thing you just did, Potter,” Moody said, quietly.

Harry shrugged.

“Sit down,” Moody said.

Harry sat gingerly in front of the desk, trying to avoid giving the impression he was nosy as he glanced round at the assorted instruments cluttering the room. It was like a far less magical and far more sinister version of Dumbledore’s office. Honestly, it gave him the creeps a bit.

“Like my Dark Detectors, do you?” Moody said, watching Harry very closely.

Harry assumed they must be things he had collected during his time as an Auror. He could tell Moody was inviting conversation, but mindful of Snape’s warning and despite the million question he had swirling round his brain, he just stiffly said, “Yes, sir.”

Moody waiting expectantly, but perhaps sensing that Harry did not feel like talking, he instead settled down behind his desk.

“So… found out about the dragons, have you?”

Harry hesitated. He certainly wasn’t about to give up Hagrid.

“It’s all right,” Moody said, stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. “Cheating’s a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Harry said sharply. “It was – a sort of accident that I found out.”

Moody grinned, “I wasn’t accusing you, laddie. I’ve been telling Dumbledore from the start, he can be high minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxine won’t be. They’ll have told their champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They’d like to prove he’s only human.”

Moody gave a sharp laugh, and his magical eye swivelled around so fast it made Harry feel distinctly queasy. He was sure the tingling in his spine was just because of what Snape had said and there was no real reason for it, but he couldn’t help but fold his arms over his stomach.

“So… got any idea how you’re going to get past you dragon?” Moody asked conversationally.

“No,” Harry said.

“Well, I’m not going to tell you,” Moody said gruffly. “I don’t show favourites, me. I’m just going to give you some good, general advice. And the first is – play to your strengths.”

“I haven’t got any,” Harry readily admitted. It had been inculcated into him before he could remembered and faced with the prospect of a dragon, he couldn’t help but feel the Dursleys had been proved right.

“Excuse me,” growled Moody. “You’ve got strengths if I say you’ve got them. Think now. What are you best at?”

Harry tried to concentrate, and ignore the panicked churning in his naval. What was he best at? Well, usually that was easy –

“Quidditch,” he said dully. “But-”

“That’s right,” Moody said, staring at him very hard, his magical eye only twitching to his trunk occasionally. “You’re a damned good flier, from what I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, but I’m not allowed a broom, just my wand” Harry pointed out. Not that it mattered, since one of the things he had read in all the pregnancy books he’d found in the library was that flying was out. They had all been very specific about that.

“My second piece of general advice,” Moody said loudly. “Is to use a nice simple spell which will enable you to get what you need.”

Harry stared at him blankly, wishing everyone would stop telling him it was so simple.

“Come on, boy…” whispered Moody. “Put them together… it’s not that difficult…”

And it clicked. Moody wanted him to fly on his Firebolt. To get his Firebolt, he needed to summon it. Nice and simple. Shame he couldn’t do it. That would have been amazing.

…

When Snape finally arrived back after lessons that day, Harry had been through the gamut of emotions so many times, he felt like a damp rag. A couple of times he had even considered just running away from Hogwarts, until he remembered that, despite everything, it was still the only place he had ever been truly happy… and if he left, his magic would be destroyed and he would lose the baby anyway. 

Harry blushed furiously when he finally noticed Snape standing there. He had been curled up in his armchair, his shoes still in the bedroom, with just thick, new bed socks on his feet. He quickly unfurled himself and sat up straight.

“Do not discomfort yourself on my account,” Snape drawled. There was no malice in his voice, but no other recognisable emotion either, so Harry wasn’t sure if he was being told off or not. He remained stiffly upright, just to be sure.

Snape settled himself down in his usual spot and regarded Harry.

“You were not at lunch,” he stated.

Harry shrugged, “Sorry, I fell asleep and missed it.”

“Miss Fawley was worried about you,” Snape said. “She informed me of your conversation with Mr Diggory.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure if he had broken even more rules by telling Cedric… it wasn’t like they could kick him out of the competition, or anything.

“Not very wise – telling your opponent…”

Harry frowned, “It was the fair thing to do. Krum and Fleur know, so Cedric should too.” He was sick of everyone treating him like he had to have some kind of ulterior motive. Couldn’t he just genuinely want to play fair?

“Hardly conducive to a victory,” Snape said.

“I don’t care,” Harry said crossly. 

“No…” Snape drawled. Harry was sure he was missing something, but he wasn’t sure what. After a moment Snape spoke again, “Have you eaten?”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing it would only get him in trouble. 

“Not hungry,” he answered honestly. Ever since he had found out about the dragons he had felt positively sick and every time he thought about the task being tomorrow he felt like he was being stabbed in the stomach.

“Perhaps some soup,” Snape said, ignoring the look on Harry’s face.

Snape went into the kitchen. There were two pops close together and some rustling and a second later Snape came out with a small bowl of steaming soup and two thick slices of the bread he always kept in the kitchen. It was the only thing he ever seemed to have in.

Snape placed the tray on the coffee table and instructed Harry to eat.

“You may take as much time as you require – there is a charm on the bowl to prevent the soup cooling too drastically – but you must finish that bowl before you are permitted to leave this room.”

Harry stiffened. He hated being trapped and that was essentially what Snape’s instructions did.

Snape did not seem to notice Harry’s discomfort, or the way his spoon shook slightly as he lifted it for his first sip of pea soup, which was just light enough for Harry to cope with.

“The Prophet’s editor has sent through a copy of their planned article for Wednesday, if you would like to read it?” Snape said, when Harry was a few mouthfuls in.

Harry paused. “Um… do I have to?” He didn’t want to sound bratty and internally winced as he remembered all the time Dudley had whined those exact words.

Snape didn’t look angry, though – he just shook his head. “So long as you trust the Headmaster’s discretion, you are free to do as you wish with regards to the article.”

A simple no would have done. Harry sipped another mouthful of soup, being careful not to slurp.

“I do, however, need your input into the statement we must amend in your name.”

The thing about not hurting all muggles because of his relatives. Harry sighed and replaced his spoon. That was enough of a dent for now. He toyed with the bread, tearing off crumbs and scattering them across the surface, until Snape reached out a hand to still his nervous fingers.

Harry froze at the contact of Snape’s cold hand, quickly dropping the bread and retreating back to the recess of his chair.

Snape looked like he was about to comment, but instead just nodded to himself and went back to being inscrutable.

“I… uh… I don’t know what to say,” Harry admitted. He had tried to think what he would want to say to the wizarding world, but not only did he not have any way of defending his relatives, he really hated the thought that if anything did happen, it might be because of him.

“Nobody expects you to,” Snape said, looking down his nose at Harry. 

Harry flushed, “Then why-”

“The Headmaster is perfectly capable of drafting the text for you and you can simply say you wrote it, if you wish to…”

Harry’s jaw tensed. He didn’t like the idea of anyone – not even Dumbledore – putting words in his mouth. Aunt Petunia had always made sure he was judged based on what she said for him and now at least he knew when people didn’t like him it was because of himself.

“I think… could I try, maybe?” Harry hedged. “I dunno…”

Snape didn’t blink as Harry squirmed around the decision.

In the end, the man seemed to get bored of just watching Harry get more and more agitated and actually decided to offer some advice. 

“It does not need to be ground breaking,” he said. “A simple paragraph denouncing violence and asserting your belief that your relatives are not representative of all muggles.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I can do that.”

“You have writing supplies I presume?” Snape questioned.

“Yeah.”

“Well then…” Snape waved towards the bedroom door and bent forward to pick up a book.

Harry’s head darted between the door and Snape. He was a bit put out at being dismissed. He had been sitting there waiting for Snape for over an hour.

“Um…”

“What, Potter?” Snape sighed.

Harry bit his lip. He didn’t want to ask for the man’s help when he was in a bad mood.

“The dragons…” he said. “You said we would-”

“And you wish to discuss it now,” Snape sighed.

Harry nodded.

“Miss Fawley did warn me you were anxious… Very well,” Snape said, sounding thoroughly put upon. “Go fetch your quill and parchment,” he ordered dismissively.

Harry frowned, “Why? Sir,” he quickly added.

When the dangerous look in Snape’s eye had faded, he explained, “I wish for you to write decide which spells you are most confident casting and we will discuss possible applications of them.”

That made sense. Harry made to get up, but hesitated again. He knew Snape would be annoyed that he had gone with Moody, but maybe Snape would think it was a good idea, and it wasn’t as if Harry could claim to have come up with it on his own…

“Why are you dithering now?” Snape carped.

“When I was telling Cedric about the dragons, Professor Moody overheard me,” Harry admitted slowly. The dangerous glint was back. Harry swallowed and took an automatic step back, but in for a penny in for a pound. “He wanted me to go to his office with him and… I tried to tell him I had to get to class, but he insisted and…”

“You could not run from your Professor,” Snape purred.

“Exactly,” Harry breathed, relieved that Snape understood.

“You could, however, have alerted Professor Flitwick and he could have made an excuse for you.”

“I- uh- really?” That hadn’t occurred to Harry at all. It seemed a little drastic.

“The Heads of House have been informed of Professor Moody’s erratic teaching methods and have agreed with me that it is unsafe for you to be around him in your condition.”

“Well I didn’t know that!” Harry argued, feeling stupid.

“An oversight,” Snape murmured after a moment. “What was the purpose of you encounter and I trust you are unharmed.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, confused as to whether Snape was showing actual concern or being sarcastic. “He just wanted to talk.”

“Indeed,” Snape purred. “What about?”

“The First Task. He suggested… well he asked what I was good at and I said flying because honestly there’s nothing… Anyway, I said I didn’t have a broom and he said I could get one and basically he made me think of Summoning.”

Snape was silent for some time after that. Finally, he said softly, “Summoning is a most useful charm in this scenario, as it allows objects to be easily recovered.” He almost seemed to be talking to himself.

“I thought it might be a good idea, but it’s not like I can fly. All the books say it’s a terrible idea and I’m fairly sure I’d just be sick.”

“Most likely,” Snape said.

“Well, I just thought I should say. I mean, it’s not my idea but-”

“The bones of the plan have merit still. However, you would do well to have alternatives, since you are still unaware of the specifics of your task.”

…

Two hours later Harry was back in the bedroom, bent over a fresh sheet of parchment. Snape had agreed he could eat in his quarters that evening, as he was already clearly terrified of the task and didn’t need the added stress of the Great Hall. Plus, as Snape had muttered, this way he could make sure Harry ate.

They had just spent a surprisingly enjoyable two hours making notes on every spell in Harry’s arsenal, pouring over books for ideas. It had been a humbling experience for Harry, as Snape forced him to honestly assess his competency in each individual spell and he had to admit to the gaps in his abilities. 

Snape had seemed quite pleased by the end of it and Harry – despite his aching hand – felt something approaching not totally petrified. 

Now he had to get down to the homework Snape had set him before dinner. This stupid statement for the article. 

Harry sighed. He had no idea what to write. 

Snape seemed convinced he could do it, though, and he wasn’t about to undermine the little faith the man had shown in him. Besides, the alternative would be leaving Dumbledore to speak for him and after his one direct interaction with the man since he had admitted what was going on, he wasn’t about to risk that. Merlin, Dumbledore hadn’t even told Sirius what was actually going on.

Sighing, Harry lowered his quill to his parchment and tried to think of what he wanted to say.

After several false starts – 

"I think most of us would be pretty disgusted if we were all painted with the same brush as Voldemort. He was a wizard and he was evil, but that doesn’t mean all wizards are evil. It’s like all elephants are grey, but not all grey things are elephants.

"In every society there are bad people, but they are the exception, not the rule. The Dursleys were bad people. It is important to think of how our actions affect others, rather than just our own opinions and viewpoints. The Dursleys did not think of me as human, which is how they justified their actions towards me. They did not think I could feel pain properly, or deserved comfort. They acted this way out of wilful ignorance, in the same way as Death Eaters treat muggles and muggleborns. 

"We are all people, who deserve to be treated as such. We all have feelings that should be respected. We all deserve not to be hurt, hunted or abused and that includes the masses of good people out there without magic. Please do not think all muggles are like the Dursleys."

Harry read over his text, which he had copied onto a clean sheet of parchment in his best handwriting. It was not perfect by any means, but it was the best he had. Snape could make of it what he would.

Harry exited into the living room, as he smelt food wafting from the kitchen. He slipped into his seat and thanked Snape for his dinner of shepherd’s pie – his favourite.

“The elves informed me it was your preferred meal,” Snape said, not looking at him. “If you are unable to eat it, you may exchange it for something more to your liking. You must eat.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. In truth, he was sure his stomach moved further into his chest every time he thought about tomorrow’s task, but he knew he was as likely to keep the shepherd’s pie down as anything. He just made sure he had a larger helping of steamed spinach than usual and went easier on the heavy meat. His mouth watered at the thought of the delicious lamb, but his stomach told him it would not be a good idea to indulge.

Snape watched him carefully spoon out his portions and the sneer on his face said clearly that he did not think it was enough. Harry blushed and laid the serving spoon down with a finality that would not be argued with.

“What do you have there?” Snape asked suddenly, nodding to the parchment by Harry’s elbow.

“The thing you wanted me to write,” Harry said, handing it over to him. “It’s not great, but I didn’t know what else to write, so…” he shrugged.

“I did not expect you to finish so promptly.”

Harry blushed, “I can do it again, if-”

“This is adequate,” Snape said. “And quite clearly written by you.”

Harry was quite sure he should take offence at that.

Snape continued, “The Dark Lord’s name will be changed. The part about the elephant will need to go – most Prophet readers will not be familiar with the saying. Maybe the text   
should be moved around…”

“But it’s good enough?” Harry sighed. He was not in the mood for Snape’s red quill.

Snape glared at him. “If you will leave the editing of it to the Headmaster, your role is complete. The language and spirit of the text will remain, but it possibly needs a few tweaks.”

“Fine,” Harry said. It was the nearest to a complement he was going to get from the man. 

“Stop playing with your food,” Snape ordered. “You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the deal: if I get 10 reviews before I go out tomorrow night, I’ll post the next chapter. First Task and the big reveal all in one!!! 24 hours.
> 
> Challenge Accepted!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness! I wasn’t expecting quite such an incredible response (it was my secret ambition to reach 150 comments overall, and you surpassed that)!!! Thank you all so much!!!
> 
> Here’s your reward 
> 
> Bits and pieces taken from The First Task.

Sitting in the middle of a tent, surrounded by nervous teenagers was the last place Severus wanted to be, but here he was. After a horrendous morning of running backwards and forwards between classes and Potter, who had been throwing up spasmodically since he got up, now he had to wait here with the boy and try and stop him having a nervous breakdown.

Severus sighed. He had really thought he had done his duty by the boy last night, but as Minerva had pointed out when she came to escort the Potter to the Champion’s Tent, Slytherins could be relied upon to listen to her, where the same could not be said for Severus and her Gryffindors. So, by dint of coddling irksome students, Severus was left to coddle the most irksome of them all.

A particularly loud cheer went up from the enclosure. Diggory had been competing for over ten minutes now and the commentary floating through was hardly encouraging. Bad enough they were forced to be exposed to this macabre spectacle, they had to endure that buffoons thoughts on the proceedings.

After the Champions had been officially told of their task – none of them had been in the least bit surprised – and Potter had naturally been saddled with the most vicious looking dragon Severus had seen, Bagman had actually had the audacity to try and talk to the boy alone. Severus had stopped it, of course, pointing out that Potter actually needed that time to prepare and it would not do for a contestant to be seen fraternising with the judges. His words had not seemed to get through to Bagman, but the ridiculous little man had understood when Severus had levelled his best glare at him.

The only preparation Potter had seen fit to partake of, however, was growing increasingly green and shaky. Not that the other two were faring much better, but they were not his concern. Potter squirmed, Lily’s impossibly green eyes – now enhanced by the boy’s new glasses – shining tensely.

The whistle finally blew and at Bagman’s gleeful announcement, Delacour stepped outside, trembling from head to foot, but with her head held high. Severus could respect that. Judging from the look Potter was giving her, so could he. 

Severus sighed. They didn’t have enough time for him to mollycoddle the boy. He cast a silent muffliato over them and knelt down in front of the wriggling youth, hoping to get his attention.

Potter finally looked up.

“Do you have a plan?” Severus asked bluntly. 

Potter shrugged. “I need to get the egg.”

That wasn’t a plan. “Yes. And how do you propose retrieve said object?”

“I mean,” Potter scratched his nose. “I could maybe just summon it, now that Professor Flitwick has helped me I know I can do it… but they will have thought of that…”

“The judges have better things to do than trying to catch you out. This task is to test your strategy skills.”

“And simple is best,” Potter nodded. “That’s what Moody said.”

Severus suppressed a growl and managed to nod round his ire.

“Be sure to specify ‘golden’ egg,” he pointed out. Potter nodded.

“What if it doesn’t work?” the boy whispered. 

How Severus wished any other teacher to be present at that moment. Even Filch would probably have had a better idea of how to respond to what Potter was going through. He had been remarkably resilient up until now, and Severus could not blame him for having reached his breaking point, but now was not the time to fall apart. Reaching for his compassion, Severus awkwardly patted his scrawny shoulder, causing the boy to look at him as if he had gone mad.

He withdrew his hand and said tersely, “All you have to do is perform the spell and follow through with you plan, then you have fulfilled the requirements of the contract for this task, even if you fail. It is a total of three words, Potter. I’m sure even you can manage that.”

“So…”

“So, you may forfeit, if you see no other opportunity. You do not need to wait until you are in imminent danger to exit.”

Potter’s fingers traced the lily shaped pendent portkey – donated by a tearful Pomona – that nestled under his robes, “But I thought-”

Merlin save me from dense Gryffindors, “The contract needs to be fulfilled to protect your magic. In this case, the Task is to come up with a strategy and execute it as well as you can. Beyond that, unless you desire to win, you need do no more.”

“It kind of feels like cheating,” Potter pouted. Then he sighed, “I just hope I can do the spell. Can you imagine what everyone will say if I can’t even summon right?”

Severus could very well imagine.

“I believe Professor Flitwick has taught you some relaxation techniques to perform before your lessons.”

Potter shifted and nodded, “Yeah, they seem to help loads.”

“Well then…” he prompted.

Severus watched out of the corner of his eye as Potter attempted to relax his tense shoulders. Even as he went through the breathing cycles reasonably well, the boy wouldn’t stop his infernal wriggling.

“What,” Severus demanded. “Is the matter Potter?”

Potter blushed to the roots of his messy hair, “I need… I need to loo, sir,” he sounded absolutely mortified. “I-

Severus smirked. He had honestly been quite worried that the boy was dehydrated after his morning’s vomiting and was relieved to find that at least some of the peppermint tea he had forced on the boy had made its way into his system.

“Come then,” he said, rising. “You will be useless if you are distracted.”

“But sir-”

Severus glided out of the back flap of the tent, ignoring Krum’s curious stare and checking continuously for a lurking Rita Skeeter. He didn’t know what Dumbledore had been thinking, allowing that woman back on the grounds, even with curtailed access. He would just need to make sure she didn’t get anywhere near Potter.

Once they were a reasonable distance from the tent, Severus motioned to a nearby tree and Potter darted past him, so red he could have been mistaken for a Weasley head of hair. Severus stood a respectable distance away, trying to discern the sounds coming from the enclosure. Delacour had been in there for about five minutes now and- there was the expected cheer.

Potter slipped back next to him, only slightly pink now and a lot more relaxed.

“Sorry, sir.”

Severus said nothing and cast a quick scourgify on the boy’s hands.

“Thanks,” Potter murmured, glancing at the enclosure as a second cheer indicated the results had been given. Krum would be going out any minute.

By silent agreement, they ambled back to the tent, Potter clearly not wanting to re-enter before Krum’s departure.

There was the whistle. They had only a few minutes now.

Severus began to chivvy Potter back to the tent, knowing that he would need what time they had to calm himself down. The boy was wound like a coiled spring.

“Sir.”

Severus turned to see Potter stopped dead two metres behind him. His hair looked even wilder than usual and his eyes were fixed on a point just beyond Severus’ left ear.

“I want you to know… I need to tell someone…”

Severus waited. He tsked impatiently. They didn’t have time for this. “Yes, Potter? What?”

Potter swallowed. “I… I’m showing. I have a bump,” he choked. “The baby… it- they’re in there. They are real.” He flattened his robes tight across his abdomen. Severus stared, but honestly could see no distinguishable curve.

“I just… someone should know. Even if something happens… they were there.”

Oh, how he wished it was Minerva and not him there. “Mr Potter,” he said, as gently as he could, which he knew was still quite biting. “Nobody can dispute that your baby is real  
and I promise that we have done everything we can to keep your child safe. You have a shield ward on the front of your robes, a portkey readily accessible, and the dragon-wranglers are ready to step in should anything look like it will go wrong,” what else did the boy want from him? “All you have to do is step into the enclosure, perform one spell and step out. Do not work yourself up.”

Unexpectedly, Severus’ words seemed to have the desired effect. Potter squared his shoulders, his pale cheeks tinged slightly pink as though he were feverish and he marched back into the tent to await the whistle.

Fifteen minutes later, Severus was standing at the entrance to the arena. Potter had done a decent job controlling his breathing and had seemed slightly calmer for a moment, but all of that had gone out of the window when the whistle had sounded and he had walked to the enclosure as if he had had a jelly-legs jinx cast on him. The only good thing was, he was so distracted, he didn’t seem to have noticed the jeers of the crowd.

“He looks terrified,” Minerva said in a strained whisper.

Severus did not bother answering. The scene spoke for itself.

Potter was still standing stock still inside the entrance to the enclosure. From the set of his shoulders, Severus could just imagine how wide his eyes were. Not that Severus could blame him. Even standing on the other side of the aperture, the sight of a fifty foot fire breathing beast was a disconcerting sight.

Even worse, Severus could see instantly that the summoning charm was a terrible idea. The dragon was standing in front of her eggs, protecting them from invaders and staring straight at Potter across the enclosure, although she made no move. While summoned objects would bypass most obstacles, that did not preclude the possibility of her leg being tapped by the flying egg and she would certainly see the projectile as it came to the boy. Either scenario would probably be seen as a threat and cause her to attack.

Severus’ heart was in his mouth as he waited for Potter to make a move. His hand was round his wand, ready to pull the boy out as soon as the inevitable happened.

Potter raised his wand. Severus gripped his wand tighter.

“Expecto Patronum!” Potter shouted, sending a magnificent silver stag galloping around the stadium.

Severus gaped, as the dragon reared up, following the spectre around the enclosure with her head and leaving Potter with the opportunity to-

“Accio Golden Egg!”

The golden egg whizzed through the air, into Potter’s arms and before the dragon could turn away from the now dissipated stag and roar, Potter had thrown himself out of the enclosure and into Minerva’s arms. The two professors dragged him away as the vicious Horntail, upon seeing her nest had been disturbed, let loose a torrent of flames and lashed her tail, shattering a large boulder. That was the wranglers’ problem.

It had all been over in just a minute.

“Potter? Potter? Are you all right?” Severus demanded, as Minerva shooed away a lurking Hagrid and Moody. The boy clearly wasn’t up to conversation right now.

Potter was visibly quivering and white as a sheet. Minerva released his arm to feel his forehead and the boy dropped like a stone. Severus winced at the crack his knees made against the hard ground and then again as the boy started retching up the little that had built up in his system over the last hour. 

Minerva crouched next to him, stroking his hair and murmuring some inane nonsense as he gasped. Severus could see Poppy hurrying across the clearing from the first-aid tent.

The medi-witch knelt next to the wretched boy.

“Do you have any pains?”

Potter shook his head, “I think- I think everything’s all right.”

“Well, we’ll just check,” Poppy said gently, helping Potter up.

Potter winced as soon as he straightened his knees.

“The boy cracked his knees when he came out of the arena,” Severus pointed out. “Apart from that, I witnessed no injuries.”

Minerva nodded to confirm this and Poppy led Potter the short way to the first-aid tent. He limped all the way.

“I’ll stay and wait for the results,” Minerva said, twisting her hands. “I don’t know how the students are going to react, with him being so quick.”

It was true – the rumble of the stadium was becoming louder as the seconds ticked by. It seemed Potter’s performance had only just caught up with them. Confusion seemed to be the reigning emotion.

“Tell me if there- tell me if he is all right,” Minerva said.

Not happy with his allotted role, Severus trudged to the first-aid tent. When he entered, the first thing he saw was Diggory, covered in bandages, but sitting up. Severus guessed that with some burn salve, he would be fine in a matter of half an hour. He marched over to the canvas curtain, behind which he could make out the shadow of Poppy fussing over Potter.

He swished through the curtains and sighed in relief when he saw that the boy was smiling. 

“I’ve put some disinfectant on his knees, but they’re just scraped. They’re all healed,” Poppy said.

Potter smiled even wider, “And the baby’s fine. Madam Pomfrey did the spell to let me hear the heartbeat again.”

“I put up a privacy ward,” Madam Pomfrey explained, as Severus started to berate the brat for being so foolishly loose lipped. “The baby’s heartbeat is a little fast, which is to be expected after all this, but overall Mr Potter and the baby seem to be in good health.

“Good,” Severus said.

“If you’ll excuse me,” the medi-witch said. She bustled out of the cubicle, waving her wand as she did so. “How does it feel now, Diggory?”

Severus turned to the euphoric boy in front of him. He looked happier than he had since the first few weeks of term. 

“That was a well-executed patronus charm, Mr Potter,” Severus complimented in a murmur.

“Thanks,” Potter breathed. “I thought about the distraction things we talked about last night and thought that maybe it would be a good idea to have one and… I couldn’t think of anything else.” He shrugged sheepishly.

Severus inclined his head, “It was well done.”

Before Potter could formulate a response, Miss Fawley shot into the tent like a whirlwind. 

“Harry!” she cried. “That was amazing! Are you all right?” She bounded to the head of the bed. “Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Potter said. “Really. Madam Pomfrey check and I’m absolutely fine.”

“Oh good-” she noticed Severus in the corner. “Sir, Professor McGonagall is outside dealing with some Gryffindors. She seemed really worried…”

Severus inclined his head, “Thank you, Miss Fawley.” There was really no need for him to stay, now that he knew that all was well with the boy.

He stepped out to find Minerva and came upon her just outside the tent, standing like a lioness between the flap and two very pushy teenagers.

“Mr Potter is well after his ordeal,” Severus purred, pretending to ignore the outraged looks on the faces of Granger and Weasley.

Minerva relaxed immediately, “Very good, Professor Snape. I was just explaining to these two that barging into a medical facility is not seemly.”

“You let that Slytherin in!” Weasley protested.

“That will do, Mr Weasley,” Minerva said sharply. She turned to Severus. “They came to me on Sunday evening to inform me of Mr Potter’s treatment by my House… much too late, I  
might add!” they had the good grace to look shame-faced. “Since then they have been pestering me to see him…”

Severus knew what she was not asking. 

“I believe he is up to visitors,” he mused. “And Madam Pomfrey is there should complications arise.”

Minerva looked sceptical, but nodded.

“Very well, in you go,” she shooed the two reprobates in. “But one hint of trouble and you’ll be serving detention until the end of the year. They’re on thin ice as it is,” she added sotto-voce to Severus.

Severus’ lips twitched.

Minerva frowned, “He’s really well.”

“Both he and the baby,” Severus muttered, his mouth barely moving. He was aware of Skeeter lurking somewhere, even if he couldn’t see her. “Poppy checked him thoroughly. Slightly raised heart rate, but nothing worse.”

“Thank Merlin,” Minerva breathed.

Raised voices could be heard floating from the tent, until a bark from Madam Pomfrey was followed by silence.

“Are you sure it was wise,” Severus asked, “allowing Weasley and Granger to see him, after the way they have behaved?”

“None of us are above reproach,” Minerva pointed out, looking at Severus severely over the top of her glasses. “And they did come to me on Sunday evening to inform me of Potter’s ostracization of their own volition. They were extremely worried about him.”

“You didn’t tell them-”

“Of course not!” Minerva said. “I told them that we were aware of Potter’s situation and that he was safe, as well as a few choice words. I believe they intended to speak with him yesterday but…”

“He was removed from classes,” Severus supplied.

“Indeed. And I believe they were late to breakfast. This is the first, fair, chance they have to talk and it is now up to them how they proceed.”

Before Severus could express his opinions on the folly of such a ploy, Percy Weasley shoved his head round the gate to inform them, pompously, that the judges were ready, if Potter was.

“I better go and fetch him,” Minerva fussed, but before either of them could head back into the tent, three Gryffindors, side by side, and a rather irate Slytherin appeared.

“You were the best, Harry!” Weasley was saying. “Hands down. Cedric did this weird thing where he Transfigured a rock on the ground… turned it into a dog… he was trying to make the dragon go for the dog instead of him. Well, it was a pretty cool bit of Transfiguration, and it sort of worked, because he did get the egg, but he got burnt as well – the dragon changed its mind halfway through and decided it would rather have him than the Labrador, he only just got away. And that Fleur girl tried this sort of charm, I think she was trying to put it into a trance – well, that kind of worked, too, it went all sleepy, but then it snored, and this great jet of flame shot out, and her skirt caught fire – she put it out with a bit of water from her wand. And Krum – he was probably best after you – hit it with some sort of spell right in its eye. Only thing is, it went trampling round in agony and squashed half the real eggs – they took marks off for that, he wasn’t supposed to do any damage to them.”

Potter, who had been grinning like a Cheshire cat, crumpled at that revelation.

“Harry, are you all right?” Granger asked, grabbing his wrist.

Potter shook his head and said vaguely, “Yeah… just… it’s a shame about, the eggs…”

“Loads survived,” Granger pointed out. “And it’s not like the dragon won’t be breeding again. I read that breeding females are expected to produce ten eggs a year and only and a couple ever hatch.”

Potter clearly didn’t know how to react that, so Severus took it upon himself to shove the boy towards the enclosure and distractions. Miss Fawley came up behind him, watching the trio go into the arena with Minerva.

“They said they were ‘really sorry’ and that they believed him now and he just took them back,” she scoffed. “He only hesitated for a moment.”

“Did he tell them about… everything?” Severus asked in a measured tone.

She shook her head, “No. I don’t think he trusts them fully yet. He really should make them work for it,” she said as Weasley threw an arm haphazardly around Potter’s shoulder.

“That is not the Gryffindor way,” Severus said.

“And that’s why I’m glad I’m in Slytherin. They’ll just end up resenting each other in the end.”

Severus wholeheartedly agreed, but just went to stand in the shadows of the gateway to see Potter’s scores. It had been interesting to hear how the other champions had faired, Severus mused – while the spell craft sounded adequate, all of them seemed to have gone for flash, over strategy. He wondered how the judges would reward the simple but effective strategy… although he supposed he was biased. Merlin, could he be… proud of Potter? Certainly of the situation, if not the boy, he thought, as he watched James Potter’s hair bob around in front of him. That invocation was enough to set his teeth on edge, as it should be.

The judges were seated on a raised dais on the opposite side of the arena, in seats draped with gold and looking far too over the top to be taken seriously. Severus suspected that the Ministry – who were still insisting on using this charade as a showcase of international co-operation – were behind it. It certainly would photograph well, Severus admitted, as he saw Skeeter’s photographer snapping shots left, right and centre. He glared in the reporter’s direction,n as the silly woman was obviously about to try and approach the boy. 

“It’s marks out of ten from each one,” Weasley was explaining.

Madam Maxine was the first judge. She raised her wand in the air and shot out a long silver ribbon that formed into a large figure eight. Severus ground his teeth. He doubted very much her champion could produce a Corporeal Patronus, even without a Dementor present.

“Not bad,” Weasley commentated, as the crowd cheered – apparently they had all decided to support Potter, now that he had shown his calibre. “I suppose she took marks off for you hesitating at the beginning and looking like you were going to faint or something…”

Severus saw the sharp look Potter gave Weasley, even if the red head didn’t notice it. So, all was not fixed in paradise.

Crouch was next. He shot up the number nine. 

“Looking good!” Weasley yelled, thumping Potter on the back so hard he stumbled slightly. Severus had to place a hand in front of Miss Fawley to stop her marching forward and giving the boy a piece of her mind. Minerva leant over and reminded Weasley to conduct himself with more decorum.

Next came Dumbledore: another number nine. The crowd cheered madly.

“He’s doing better than the others,” Miss Fawley explained. Severus rolled his eyes at the fickleness of those who just this morning had been jeering at the boy. 

Ludo Bagman – ten.

Severus wasn’t sure about that. After all, the judges knew for certain the boy was getting help and he would have thought that would have some bearing on the marks.

Potter apparently agreed. “But… I messed up at the beginning,” he spluttered. “I hesitated and… what’s he playing at?”

“Harry, don’t complain,” Weasley yelled. Even Granger was bouncing on the balls of her feet like a little child.

“If Karkaroff just gives you five you’ll be in the lead,” she squealed.

Severus could see Karkaroff had reached the same conclusion and looked like he was sucking a lemon. Severus smirked. Had the boy had just performed a summoning charm, then maybe he could justify a low score, but no one in their right mind could deny a partonus was impressive. He could see the man’s beady eyes darting to Skeeter. He was clearly weighing up his options – have it reported to the world that his Champion had been blatantly bested by a fourteen year old, or have it reported that he had abused his position to try and cover up that his Champion had been bested by a fourteen year old.

Karkaroff raised his wand – six. Well, that was neither one thing nor the other. Both sides would be angry with him. The fool.

Potter was laughing with Granger hanging round his neck like a limpet. Weasley, on the other hand, was furious.

“What!?” he bellowed. “Six? You lousy biased scumbag, you gave Krum ten.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow, but made no move to silence her errant student, which in itself was proof that she agreed. If anything, Potter looked even happier after the outburst.

Another of the Weasley brood – Charlie, if he recalled correctly – came running up to them as the arena started to empty and the students made their way back to the school, now that the spectacle was over.

“That was unbelievable, Harry. Well done! I’ve got to write mum and tell her how you did. She’s been beside herself all week,” he said, shaking his head. “They told me to ask you to hang around for a few minutes – Bagman wants to talk to you in the Champions’ Tent.”

Weasley and Granger were clearly wanting to wait for him, but Minerva and Severus agreed with a look that that would not be a good idea. After the joys of the day, the evening was going to offer quite a contrast.

“You two, back to the tower,” Minerva ordered. “Potter has matters he must attend to.”

“You are coming back to the tower, then, Harry?” Granger asked in a small voice.

Potter looked like a rabbit in headlights, “I… uh… I-”

“Mr Potter, a word,” Severus said. The boy followed him without question. He looked the boy right in the eye, trying to ignore Lily staring back at him and said bluntly, “The Headmaster intends to inform the student body at dinner of your circumstances.”

Potter’s eyes widened. “Do I have a choice about that?”

“No,” Severus said. “The Headmaster feels the students will be more willing to accept it if it comes from him first.”

“They never had a problem believing the Prophet before,” Potter grumbled.

“It is what the Headmaster has decided,” Severus said stiffly. He was not about to argue with Potter about this. “You have the choice of either informing your… friends now, or they will hear it tonight.”

Potter looked to his friends, who were still loitering, despite Minerva’s instructions. Myriad emotions passed over his face which, without the aid of occlumency, Severus could not fathom.

“I don’t know what to say to them… Can… I think tonight would be better…”

Severus nodded.

“I don’t have to go tonight, do I?” Potter asked desperately. “They’ll all stare and-”

“You may stay in the dungeons, if you wish.” It was the obvious solution and if Potter was actually present when Dumbledore revealed everything, there was likely to be a riot. 

“Thank you, sir,” Potter said. He poked his toe into the ground and asked shyly. “And… can Lyra… I mean, I know it’s not…”

Severus sighed, “If it would keep you calm and she is amenable, Miss Fawley may remain with you.”

Another tentative smile.

Severus gestured and Potter returned to his cohorts.

“Um… guys… you should just go back to the Common Room. I’ll see you later.”

“Why does she get to stay and we don’t!?” Weasley demanded, pointing at Miss Fawley. “Why are you hanging round with Slytherins? You know they’re only out for themselves.”

“Mr Weasley,” Minerva began, sounding scandalised. “Such prejudices are-” 

“Cunning and ambition don’t mean selfish, just like courage and daring don’t necessarily mean pig-headed idiocy,” Lyra shot back.

Weasley swelled and turned a neat shade of beetroot, but before all-out battle could commence, Minerva stepped between the two.

“Really, Miss Fawley, that was quite unnecessary. Now, there has been quite enough malingering around here and Mr Potter has somewhere he needs to be. I cannot instruct you as to your movements, Miss Fawley, but you two are to return to the Common Room immediately.”

Finally realising that their Head of Houses’ patience had been used up, Weasley and Granger gabbled their goodbyes to Harry and ran back to the castle, with Minerva shadowing them.

“The tent, Mr Potter,” Severus directed, simultaneously keeping an eye out for any other troublemakers hanging around. “Miss Fawley, please remain here.”

The two teens separated and Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose as he prepared himself for the next part of this awful day.

…

Potter was safely inured in his quarters with Miss Fawley for company. Now he just needed to attend this staff meeting like Dumbledore had insisted. Hopefully he had dawdled in the dungeons long enough to miss the Headmaster’s explanations of this mess – he had really gone over it enough the last few days.

He took a steadying breath and pushed open the door to the Staff Room. Sure enough, Hagrid was in the corner weeping into a tablecloth, while Minerva was comforting Charity. As the Muggle Studies teacher, she out of all of them knew what Potter’s experiences meant. Severus sometimes forgot how few wizards understood sexual assault, as it was such a rare phenomenon in the magical community. Minerva had admitted to him that Dumbledore had had to actually explain the term ‘rape’ to Pomona, before Severus had arrived.

The prevailing emotion in the room seemed to be shock. Bathsheba had never taught the boy and just kept half opening her mouth, as if she had nearly found the words, but not quite… Rolanda was crying softly into her handkerchief, muttering about wasted talent. Severus scoffed. Septima seemed to be in a similar position to Bathsheba – beyond generic platitudes, what could she offer? Severus didn’t think she had ever exchanged two words with the boy. Even Filch looked taken aback by the news, his eyes bulging out as he stroked his hideous mog.

Moody was worrying. The gnarled man hadn’t seemed to react at all, except for an increased malevolence in his good eye. The Moody Severus had known and known of would have been tearing the walls of the castle down in his effort to reach Vernon Dursley and ensure justice was done. But, here he remained eerily still. Dumbledore was also watching the man warily. Oh well, the calming draughts Severus had in his pocket would adequately serve Sybill at least, who was on the floor in hysterics and was wailing some nonsensical nonsense. 

“That would explain why he fell asleep in class last week,” Aurora said quietly. Severus slipped into Sybill’s vacated seat next to her. “I was- I was sharp with him.” She covered her face in her hands.

“You weren’t to know,” Pomona said kindly. Aurora waved her off, sniffling. Severus handed her a handkerchief, which she took without looking at him.

“I suppose that’s the anatomy books have disappeared to?” Irma Pince grumbled, her face as sour as ever.

Minerva glared at her, “I think you might find this is slightly more important than an overdue book, Irma,” she said.

“Stolen, not overdue,” Irma said snidely. “And shall I not bother to do the inventory, if you think it matters so little. It’s these little expenses and inconsistencies that give the  
governors-”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore interrupted, raising his voice. “I’m afraid, at this time Irma, I am inclined to agree with Minerva. We will be sure to talk to Mr Potter about the missing tomes, but in the meantime we must discuss the more immediate concerns.”

“’Arry’s ‘avin’ a baby,” Hagrid cried. “An’ he’s only a mite ‘imself.”

“Yes, Hagrid,” Dumbledore sighed. “And rest assured we are going to help him as much as we can, but in the meantime, I need all of you who have Mr Potter in your classes to check your lesson plans and see what might need adapting to accommodate his condition.”

A general nod went round the room. 

“We will meet on Monday to discuss progress in that regard. This is why Mr Potter has been absent for many lessons, as I am sure you can appreciate.”

“Shielding charms and bubble-head charms should solve most of it,” Severus said. 

“Except for exceptional circumstances, yes,” Dumbledore said. “It is the exceptional that needs to be identified. Speaking of which, I am afraid, Hagrid that Harry will not be able to attend your physical classes until the baby is born, although you may continue to set him homework and theory.”

Hagrid’s sobs redoubled, causing Severus to wince at the trumpet sound the giant man made as he blew his nose. 

“Blast Ended Skrewts, while interesting, are not safe,” Minerva pointed out, patting Hagrid on the shoulder. The man just nodded, still wet and miserable.

Dumbledore turned to Moody, “And Alastor, I’m afraid I have decided that you are simply not experienced enough to make the necessary adaptations and as Defence is such a  
hands on subject…”

Moody’s eye darkened. “You think I’d hurt the boy, Albus?” he said gruffly.

“Not intentionally. We shall discuss it later, if you like, privately.”

Moody pouted and clumped out of the room. Dumbledore sighed.

He turned to the remaining staff. “At dinner tonight, I shall be informing the students.”

“Are you sure that is a good idea, Albus,” Aurora asked. “They’re so young.”

“Indeed they are, my dear, but they will all be aware of the situation tomorrow morning and I would rather be sure that they understood than trust their closing reading of the Prophet.”

“And it gives us a head start in answering any questions they might have before Mr Potter joins them in classes,” Filius pointed out.

“I suppose,” she said, chewing her lip. “They’ll need help.”

“They Heads of House will be on hand,” Filius assured her, patting her hand.

“Now,” Albus said, rubbing his hands together. “I shall leave Minerva to fill you in on the plans for punishments in the wake of the bullying young Harry has experienced.” Filch’s eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. “For now, I must go to my office to tell the Champions what provisions are being made for Harry in the Tasks. They have a right to be fully informed. Pomona, if you would…”

“This will ruin Cedric’s day,” Pomona sighed.

“Diggory has certainly not helped with the bullying,” Severus reminded her. “Even if he did not play an active role.”

Pomona looked pained, but could not disagree. She left to collect her Hufflepuff.

Severus rose, “Headmaster, should I-”

“You should check Harry is all right,” Dumbledore said. “That is your task.”

Severus felt the weight of those words acutely. He had never thought his vow would entail this. 

Albus exited in a flurry of purple spangles, leaving a red eyed staff in his wake.

Minerva sighed. “Right, points…”

…

All Hogwarts students, as well as the delegations from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang stretched out before Severus, all happily sated from a feast to celebrate the completion of the First Task. It wasn’t really a feast, per say; more of a large meal to mark the occasion and force all those who had been intending to host parties in their Common Rooms into the Great Hall. Everyone was so caught up in the festivities that none of them seemed to notice the sombre mood of the professors, or the Champions themselves. 

Severus had fulfilled his task and had settled Potter fully back into his quarters. He and Miss Fawley were in the dungeons with dinner and a radio to keep them occupied… Severus remembered a neighbour in Spinner’s End describing leaving her dog the same way. 

Dumbledore stood, calling the Hall to silence with a single look. 

“I think we can all agree that the Task this afternoon was a most entertaining spectacle, as well as a remarkable display of talent and quick thinking from all our Champions,” the Headmaster began. A loud cheer went round the Hall, but rather than rising to the occasion, all three Champions present just looked embarrassed and slightly queasy. 

Dumbledore continued, “I do not wish to detract from the joy of these events, or the delicious meal we have just shared, but I must. I must tell you of something that is to appear in the Daily Prophet tomorrow and which will be affecting one of your fellow students fundamentally. I wish to tell you, so you may absorb this information, and be better able to support this person and act as the true friends I know you all strive to be.”

Minerva and Severus exchanged a look.

“As some of you may have noticed, Mr Potter is not among us this evening.”

The Gryffindors had definitely noticed – they had been muttering about it throughout dinner, especially Granger and the Weasleys.

“Mr Potter is currently in a safe place within the castle. The place he has been staying this past week, since we discovered that he had been thrown out of Gryffindor Tower by his Housemates.”

The murmuring around the Hall crescendoed until Albus was forced to yell, “SILENCE!”

The students settled down, although more than a few of the Gryffindors looked rather sick. Had they not expected to be discovered sooner or later? Minerva had been champing at the bit all week to confront the blighters, but Dumbledore had insisted everything to do with Potter be kept quiet for as long as possible. It was possibly even the case that the Prophet’s article was a blessing in disguise for Potter. Students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were glaring at the Gryffindors, although Severus knew they were far from blameless.

“This has brought to our attention most forcefully the bullying culture that has been allowed to grow in our school. No more,” Dumbledore said gravely. “We have given you the benefit of the doubt over the years that your squabbles and feuds could be solved among yourselves, as we believed you were mature enough to master the basic practise of living and interacting with your peers without interference from the staff. Clearly we were wrong. When a person is forced to endure taunts predicting his violent death, it cannot be allowed. When that person is forced to watch his friends wear badges specifically designed to insult and demean him, it cannot be allowed. When a child is forced to live in a broom cupboard, because of the jealous actions of those who should be his allies, it cannot be allowed!”

Severus watched in satisfaction as at least sixty percent of the faces in the room went bright red. 

“I realise that not all of you took active part in these actions,” Dumbledore offered. “But that does not abrogate you of responsibility. Many, if not all of you knew that these things were happening, and not one of you came forward. Those of you we have put in positions of responsibility for the welfare of the lower years,” his eyes swept over the prefects, lingering on Diggory, who was grey and unable to meet Dumbledore’s gaze. “Those of you who are his friends,” the Weasley twins were surveyed. “Just those of you who should know better. I do not claim that we teachers are above reproach either. As I said, we have let things rest for far too long and I must warn you that that will no longer be the case. Bullying will not be tolerated at Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore paused for a moment to let his message sink in.

“Now, while I do not usually condone mass punishments for single infractions, I have decided, with the support of the Heads of House, that we must acknowledge what has been done. Because of that, the House Points now stand thus: Ravenclaw has fifty points – Professor Flitwick has witnessed many of you participating in the ‘Potter Stinks’ campaign, as I believe it is known, and none of you came forward to help Mr Potter. Hufflepuff has fifty points also – many of you were the most vocal exponents of insults during this time; Mr Diggory was offered the chance to have the points he garnered from the First Task added to this tally, but has said that he does not want that, as he feels responsible for not curbing the behaviour, as was in his power to do so. I have the utmost respect for his decision.”

Diggory turned bright red and refused to look at any of his Housemates.

“Slytherin has fifty points. It has come to my attention that Slytherin House is the source of most of the propaganda aimed against Mr Potter, and Professor Snape and I were most disappointed by the behaviour of you all. If it were not for the fact that Miss Fawley, has been supporting Harry and helping him during this time, we would have been inclined to have been much harsher with your points.”

Severus glared at his House. He already had a list of students to assign detention to. He had been far too lax with them, assuming that they needed the benefit of the doubt, considering the rest of the school’s attitude to them, but the bullying had really gone too far. It was hard to look down the table and realise how many of his students probably were to the other Houses what James Potter had been to him.

“And finally, Gryffindor,” Dumbledore said gravely. Severus worked to keep the smirk of his face as Minerva glowered beside him. She had actually wanted to be much harsher with Gryffindor to begin with, but unfortunately had been talked round. “You now stand at just thirty points. Your behaviour collectively has been abominable and I should tell you that if it were up to Professor McGonagall and if it were not for the pinches of support Mr Potter received from Messrs Fred and George Weasley and Mr Longbottom, your standing would currently be zero. I am disgusted with your actions and Professor McGonagall will be speaking to many of you later in regards to detentions for your actions.” Dumbledore stared at them hard, not a trace of twinkle in his eye. “Mr Potter’s forty two points from this afternoon’s task will be added, if he decides that he is willing to return to your House, which at the moment is not a given.”

Ignoring the outraged expressions plastered on most of the Gryffindor’s faces, Dumbledore took a swig from his goblet. Considering the news he was about to deliver, Severus was fairly certain it was not pumpkin juice the Headmaster was imbibing.

“Tomorrow morning many things about Mr Potter’s life will be made public. You’re treatment of him will be included, but I doubt very much it will be noticed. Before this article is published, I must tell you of Mr Potter’s circumstances: what they have been and what they will become, as this will affect not only him, but also Hogwarts as a whole in the long run.”

Severus gritted his teeth. Stop prevaricating, old man. The students were getting more and more anxious with every minute that passed.

Dumbledore sighed, before raising his head and stating clearly, “Mr Potter has, since his parents’ death, lived with his muggle aunt, her husband and his cousin. It was brought to our attention last week that this arrangement was not as happy as we might have hoped.”

A murmur went round the Hall.

“After many years of secrecy, trained by his relatives not to speak of his abuse-” there was an intake of breath at that statement. “- Mr Potter has told us what has happened at the hands of relatives. I will not go into details here. It is not my intention to encourage the promulgation of gossip, but one element must be dealt with. Mr Potter has told us that his uncle has, for many years, been… sexually assaulting him.”

The outcry was immediate. Some clearly didn’t know what the Headmaster was saying, but were reacting to those around them - many were too shocked to even move, a select few started bawling loudly and the more obnoxious were proclaiming it to be lies. Severus stood and looked sharply at Draco Malfoy, who got the message and shut up immediately. Minerva’s similar action seemed to have silenced the majority of the noise before it could really get started, although the occasional snuffle could be heard.

“Again, I do not tell you this for the purposes of gossip. Mr Potter’s experiences are not the stuff of chatter and I trust you all will exercise discretion. Nor do I tell you simply to shock, or cause sympathy for Mr Potter. It was brought to our attention that Mr Potter is in fact pregnant – SILENCE!” Dumbledore was forced to bellow again. “There will be time enough to react, and I hope you all will think upon how your responses will affect Mr Potter before the morning. 

“Mr Potter is currently fourteen and a half weeks pregnant. This means that we can confirm with absolute certainty that he did not enter himself in the Tournament, as the Goblet would never normally have allowed someone in his condition to be chosen, even if he had entered himself. His name should automatically have been rejected and we are investigating how this did not occur. Because of his condition, the judges have all decided that he will be allowed a teacher to assist him in his Tasks, and certain safety measures have been employed. The other Champions were informed of this this afternoon. He is not cheating. 

“Now, I am sure many of you, if not all, will have questions about all this, however, for now, I think that is quite enough for us all to take in. Mr Potter will be rejoining his classmates tomorrow and I trust that you will all treat him with the dignity he deserves. Your Heads of House will be available to speak to at any time and I wish to reiterate what I hope you all know: if you feel in danger at home or at school, please speak to a teacher immediately.”

With that, Dumbledore retook his seat.

Severus watched as Granger started to sob and Weasley just sat there, staring at her, about as useful as a tomato. Nothing much to tell Potter, who he knew would ask as soon as he walked through the door. None of the students were making a move to leave the Great Hall, as if it would not be real if they just stayed there. It was interesting to see the open guilt on many (too many) of their faces. Even with the evidence of the badges, Severus had clearly not comprehended the level of peer pressure the boy had been up against. Unwillingly, his estimation of the boy once again rose. 

McLaggen – who he knew Minerva was ready to string up by his toenails – had shrunk into himself until he was virtually the size of a first year. The full scope of the situation even seemed to finally be dawning on Malfoy, who was opening and closing his mouth in imitation of a fish, while his peers quietly discussed the development.

“We need to get them back to the Common Rooms,” Minerva whispered, breaking him out of his thoughts. “They can’t just sit here all night.”

Severus nodded. At an unseen signal, all four Heads of House rose as one and made their way to their respective tables. Upon seeing their House Master, the Slytherins all gathered themselves with barely a moment’s pause and started to file out of the hall under Severus’ watchful gaze. He was almost proud of them. The Durmstrang students who exited with them were hardly exhibiting the same level of poise through their shock, even if they did not know the boy.

A quick glance round the Hall told him that not all students were behaving with the same level of decorum, but all in all, it had gone as well as anyone could hope. Minerva especially seemed to be having a problem rallying her brave lions into action. Miss Weasley had worked herself into such a state that Severus found it necessary to slip his colleague a couple of vials of calming draught, which she took gratefully. Having seen to that, he followed his charges out of the Great Hall and down into the dungeons.

He stood at the Common Room entrance, watching the last of the students file in silently. Severus followed them in to the low ceilinged Common Room. It was rare for everyone to be present at once and, despite its sprawling nature, it suddenly felt quite claustrophobic. He couldn’t imagine what Filius and Minerva were having to deal with.

After checking with a prefect that everyone was accounted for and seeing he had everyone’s attention, Severus said, “I assume you all have questions.”

They all did, but nobody wanted to ask them. After a minute a small second year girl – the younger Miss Greengrass – raised her hands. Severus nodded to her.

“What is sexual assault, sir?”

Severus sighed. He had known this would happen.

“Sexual assault is when a person is forced into sexual activity against their will. In this case, it included rape, which is to say, penetrative sex.” He was not at all comfortable talking to the young children about this, but of course these questions would come up. He was just grateful same-sex couplings were accepted by pure bloods. He was still going to talk to Poppy about adding some kind of class to the curriculum.

“Isn’t it incest if it was his uncle?” a third year boy asked.

“The man is not biologically related to him, so no,” Severus explained. “The man greatly abused his position authority over Potter, but they are not related by blood.”

“Has this been going on since…” Miss Parkinson trailed off, looking pained. Severus knew that the forth year Slytherins had been the most fractious with Potter.

Severus sighed. It was going to be in the newspaper anyway. “Mr Potter has been abused by his relatives since he was placed with them. The sexual assault started when he was around eight.”

Miss Parkinson nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Miss Greengrass patted her on the back.

“I thought magic children couldn’t be raped,” Nott said belligerently. “That’s what my dad said. He said only muggles would think of it as a possibility and at least we were safe.”

“I will not tell you the details, Mr Nott,” Severus said. “But insidious abuse is not something to be trifled with. And please bear in mind that generalising experience or actions is not helpful to Mr Potter and certainly do not minimise his experiences by claiming they could not have happened. The Aurors, DMLE, WCS and staff here at Hogwarts have all confirmed that it is true.”

Nott reddened and lowered his eyes.

“Was that why he was in the dungeons?” Malfoy asked, his voice surprisingly unsure.

Severus looked at him. He had almost forgotten the boy’s involvement a week ago, when all this had begun. He had walked in on Malfoy attacking Potter and using that disgusting language. He had punished the boy for the language, but nothing for a spell that could have harmed Potter irreparably. Malfoy was a fool for reminding him of that.

“Potter was coming to inform me that he needed help. Miss Fawley has since liaised in this regard,” he said silkily.

“Is that where Lyra’s been?” a seventh year – one of Miss Fawley’s friends – asked.

“Miss Fawley has been most supportive of Mr Potter this last week, despite the need for secrecy, hence our House’s retention of so many points. I should tell you that, upon close examination of certain students’ reputations for antagonistic behaviour, I was inclined to not allow the Headmaster to be so lenient. I will not allow this behaviour to continue. Am I understood?”

Most nodded, although some (the usual suspects) looked angry at his words. For too long he had given his students the benefit of the doubt and now more than ever they would need guidance. He could already see Malfoy edging to his Common Room. Severus sighed. He was probably off to write to his father immediately.

“If the… sire is a muggle, does that mean Potter is a bearer?” Mr Ostura, a fifth year asked. Of course his Slytherins knew what that meant.

“Yes. Mr Potter has been identified as a bearer.”

“But-”

“The implications of that are private to Mr Potter,” Severus stated, glaring down any of the students who looked too interested. He was going to have to warn Potter of the Slytherins’ interest in his possible talents.

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?” a first year Severus couldn’t remember the name of asked innocently. Anyone who had been staring at their hands turned to Severus. That was what none of them could understand – Potter was the Golden Boy, beloved of all the wizarding world, who they had been told all their life lived in and beyond the luxury he deserved from his sacrifice… his mother’s sacrifice. Why would Potter, of all people have kept quiet?

Severus sighed, “We are talking about a lifetime of abuse. It is rare for children from abusive backgrounds to come forward, for fear of retribution or being turned away. Again, I would remind you that Mr Potter does not wish to talk about this and is deeply unhappy that it is being made public in this way. All I will say is that concepts of ‘normal’ can often be skewed. And I would remind you of the Headmaster’s message – if you feel in danger, or feel that the treatment you are experiencing is not as it should be, at any time, please come to us. I will remain here for another half an hour, if any of you have any questions, or simply need to talk.”

With that, Severus sank into an available armchair and waited for the students to approach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then, I’m afraid I can’t offer you another bribe, as I’ve run out of chapters again. Next up will be Harry going back to classes and some Ron and Hermione drama. Lyra will be back more fully soon! 
> 
> Even without blackmail, if anyone feels like feeding my review addiction, I would not be averse…
> 
> Next update will be 7th December (CHRISTMAS IS COMING!!!!!!!)
> 
> "Some minor changes made 26th November. Thank you to Gem11kyo for pointing out the mistake)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews!
> 
> Lots of fights. A bit of profanity.

It took a couple of minutes after he waking for Harry to remember why he didn’t feel like the world was imploding quite so much. That was right – the First Task was over. It was months before he needed to worry about the Second. He and Lyra had tried opening the Golden Egg the previous evening while Snape had been out, but unless he had to fight a banshee he didn’t have a clue what it meant. Lyra had had a number of theories, each of which was more disturbing than the last. She had been in the process of re-enacting Moody singing in the shower with a transfigured hairbrush when Snape had returned. 

Anyway, it was now the next day and Harry had to get up and deal with the world. He burrowed deeper under the warm covers and closed his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep. It was not to be. Harry sighed as his bladder nudged him fully back to the land of the living and he rubbed his little bump as he clambered out of bed.

When he was clean and dressed, Harry went into the kitchen to decide what he was going to have for breakfast. Snape had told him that he was still not allowed to go to Defence, so he had his first class off, and he had no intention of braving the Great Hall yet. He wandered into the kitchen, running through foods in his head to try and find something appetising, when he was faced with Snape sitting at the dining table, reading the Daily Prophet.

“You do understand the concept of sleeping in, don’t you Potter?” the man asked irritably.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “But clearly it falls outside my skill set.”

Snape raised an eyebrow and gestured to the seat opposite him. He called Nippy before Harry had even had a chance to sit down.

“Whats can Nippy be getting for yous today, Mr Harry Potter,” Nippy squeaked happily. He had told Harry last night how thrilled all the Elves had been that he had got through the First Task safely and had showered the two teens with anything they could think of. Lyra had called it a midnight feast, even if it had only been six thirty. Harry grinned mischievously as he thought what Snape would have said if he had seen Harry eating treacle tart for dinner, sitting on the floor.

“Good morning, Nippy. Um… Could I please have half a grapefruit and some bacon and tomatoes on toast?”

“And drinks, Mr Harry Potter?” the little elf grinned at the (for Harry) large order.

“Um… Pumpkin juice, please. And… some peppermint tea too!” He had grown fond of the concoction.

Nippy popped out and a minute later reappeared with a tray.

“The Elves be very happy Mr Harry Potter be eating more,” Nippy said seriously. “And wes just wants to be sayings, if the students be mean to Mr Harry Potter again, wes going to makes their foods withs no salt.” He nodded in a ‘so there’ sort of way, before popping out. 

Snape choked on his tea at the Elf’s statement, although he regained control so quickly that Harry didn’t have time to acknowledge it.

“You seem in a good mood,” the potions master pointed out.

“Well, I guess not having a dragon getting ready to eat me cheers me up,” Harry smiled. “Sir.”

“Indeed,” Snape said, moving the Daily Prophet discreetly out of sight.

Harry sighed. He had known this was coming all week, although it had got lost in amongst the drama of the First Task. 

“How bad is it?” he asked conversationally, taking a bite of his grilled bacon and wholegrain toast.

“As expected,” Snape said, watching him carefully. “A couple of surprises, which will be looked into.”

“Can I read it?” Harry said. He didn’t want to be in the dark about what everyone had been told about him.

Snape hesitated.

“I promise I won’t freak out,” Harry insisted. “I just… I need to know what they said.”

For a long moment Harry was sure Snape was going to refuse, but just as he was about to give up, the man reached under the table and retrieved the newspaper from the other chair, passing it to Harry.

Harry opened the newspaper to find a huge photograph of himself staring back. It was as he had first entered the arena, biting his lip and staring up at the dragon frozen in fear. Harry watched as the nearly muggle-worthy motionless figure suddenly blinked, shouted a spell and a huge great silver mass erupted from his wand. 

He turned to the article.

His first thought was that it wasn’t as bad as it could be. Everything they said was true. A lot of it was verbatim what he could remember saying that night in the hospital wing. More details than he would have liked, although it kept insinuating that his full medical records should be released to the Prophet. That wasn’t going to happen

Merlin, it went on for seven pages. They even wrote a eulogy for Rowan. And there was a picture of the tree he was buried under! Harry’s throat tightened. He took a swig of tea. He could see Snape out of the corner of his eye getting ready to snatch the paper out of his hand, so he quickly turned the page.

“There’s going to be an investigation into Hogwarts?” Harry asked when he reached that bit.

Snape’s lips twisted. “It was to be expected. The Ministry wants to know how we didn’t identify your abuse earlier.”

“It’s not like I told anyone,” Harry reasoned. He hadn’t wanted to get anyone into trouble.

“There are other ways we could have been aware. And we are all in favour of such an investigation, as it might mean new directives to allow us to spot other cases more routinely.”

Harry nodded, unsure what to say. “Do you think there are a lot?” he asked quietly.

“More than we might imagine,” Snape said. “Not all extreme cases, but things we should be made aware of.”

“Oh,” he turned back to the article. “It’s not fair to say Madam Pomfrey should have known about Rowan. Who looks at a twelve year old and immediately thinks ‘pregnant’..? I was hardly showing and we all just thought I had put on a little weight.” Oliver had made a few comments about it towards the end of term. Harry had had to grin and bear it when they had all come back after the holidays and the whole team had been joking that he was the only person to lose weight over Christmas.

“I agree, but blame is something the Prophet enjoys. Madam Pomfrey will not let it affect her and Professor Dumbledore will not allow her to be penalised.”

Harry carried on reading. His statement was in there, along with a commentary saying how brave and forgiving he was. He rolled his eyes.

It was a passage right near the end that caused him to drop the paper.

Mr Vernon Dursley entered a plea of Not Guilty and is currently awaiting trial in muggle jail. The Prophet is led to understand that Harry Potter will have to give evidence. No news yet on Mr Potter’s reaction to these events. 

Mrs Petunia Dursley pled Guilty, but the charges were curtailed, following evidence that Mr Dursley acted in a coercive and controlling manner to his wife. Mr Dursley had complete control of the family finances, threatening to leave her and make her live in penury if she did not act according to his wishes and Mrs Dursley has stated that she has, for many years, been in fear of her life and the life of her son, Dudley Dursley, due to Mr Dursleys, at times, unhinged behaviour. 

Mrs Dursley has been awarded suspended sentence and two years’ probation. She is to complete 100 hours’ community service, or risk going to muggle jail.

“The Headmaster was not informed of this,” Snape said, interrupting Harry’s wide eyed silence. “Someone in the Auror Office contacted him this morning to let him know there was a leak in the Muggle Liaison Department that was identified this morning.”

“When-” Harry cleared his throat. “When was she released?”

“It was confirmed on Monday, apparently. We were not given much information and nothing about the trial,” Snape was watching Harry so closely, it made him uncomfortable. “Do you-”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “For telling me. About the leak, or whatever, I mean. It’s…” He didn’t know what it was. He quickly folded the paper and placed it carefully on the table. He picked up his fork and turned back to his food.

Snape never took his eyes of him. It was more calculation than worry in his eyes. Maybe he thought Harry was going to start smashing things.

“You are not to attend your Defence class this morning,” Snape said eventually.

“You told me last night,” Harry said through a mouthful of toast.

Snape raised an eyebrow and glared in such a way that would usually have Harry scrambling for a ‘sir’, but at that moment he couldn’t care less. Harry kept his eyes on his food.

Snape snorted and muttered something under his breath, which Harry didn’t acknowledge.

“I must go to the Great Hall,” he announced.

“Okay,” Harry said.

He walked out, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. 

Harry sighed and abandoned his food to put his face in his hands. His thoughts were all topsy turvy again and he didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t think Aunt Petunia was as bad as Uncle Vernon by any means, but she had joined in. It hadn’t seemed like Uncle Vernon had been forcing her. Did that mean Dudley would just go back and live with her? And what would she do for money, without Uncle Vernon there? Did that mean Harry would have to go back and live with her again? He didn’t even want to think about testifying in front of Uncle Vernon. No one was explaining anything. The only thing Harry was sure of was that he had no idea how he felt.

Harry finished his grapefruit and washed his plates thoroughly. He knew the House Elves would do it, but since he had the sink, he might as well use it, because what else did he have to do? He had finished all his homework from last week and right now he didn’t even know what lessons he was allowed to go to or what he was meant to be doing… it was just a mess.

He sat in his favourite armchair and stared out of the window. The next time he looked up, which felt like a minute later, he was shocked to find it was almost ten thirty.

Right on cue, there was a knock at the door and Harry opened it to find Lyra standing there.

“Professor McGonagall let me out early. She thought you might like someone to walk you to class. You have Charms, don’t you?”

Harry nodded automatically, a bit cross that his Head of House didn’t trust him to get from the dungeons to the charm’s corridor. It wasn’t like he had lived in the castle for over three years, or anything.

“I’ll just get my bag,” he muttered.

He threw his Charms and Transfiguration books into his new bag, fairly certain that however they were going to react, Hermione and Ron were going to take up his lunch break, and joined Lyra in the corridor.

“How are you?” she asked.

Harry shrugged.

“Okay,” Lyra said after a minute. They made their way up the first flight of stairs.

“How’s everyone reacting?” Harry asked quietly.

Lyra sighed, “In shock, to be honest. Everyone was a bit subdued at breakfast, although a couple of people kept badgering me about you.”

She didn’t say what she’d said to those people.

Students were beginning to filter out into the corridor now. He didn’t see why he had to go walk to class at the beginning of break, rather than slip in at the end like he always did. This way was guaranteed to get people to stare.

Sure enough, everyone they passed averted their eyes as soon as they saw him notice them, or smiled sheepishly at Lyra, who was always sure to say hello to them.

“Is that why you helped?” Harry suddenly asked.

Lyra stopped, confused. They were in a relatively quiet part of the castle, but a couple of people still stopped and stared. Lyra quickly pulled Harry into an empty classroom. He shook her off as soon as he could. She shut the door and cast a quick ward.

“Don’t do that!” Harry snapped.

“Don’t do what?”

“The ward!”

“I just thought you might like some privacy to calm down,” Lyra said, much too calmly for Harry’s liking.

“I am calm!” he shouted.

“Clearly,” Lyra drawled. She sounded just like Snape.

“This was your plan, wasn’t it?” Harry demanded. He didn’t care that he probably sounded unhinged. “That’s why you helped me, isn’t it? I knew I Slytherin wouldn’t help me just for the sake of it!”

“Harry, what are you talking about?” Lyra asked, still sounding calm, but her eyes were getting a little bit hard.

“Helping me! Now everyone knows you’ve been helping me and you’re getting all the attention and you probably think it will help you get a job, or something, or that it makes you really impressive that you helped the pathetic abused little boy, and better yet: it’s the Boy Who Lived and-” 

“Harry!” Lyra yelled. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it!?”

“Yes! For one thing, everyone’s known I’ve been hanging out with you since all this started – well, since I found out about it – and I assure you, it has not been a social lubricant.”

“But now-”

“Just now I was being nice, because it freaks people out and I thought they’d be a bit less manic around you if I acted normal,” Lyra said. “Fine! It if makes you feel better, I didn’t just do it out of the kindness of my heart. I helped you at the beginning, because it is my job, as Head Girl, to help the lower years, and I didn’t see anyone else lining up to support you, so I stepped in. And, you know what? I think most human beings would have done. Sorry it was a slimy Slytherin.”

Harry frowned and tried to say something in his defence.

Lyra continued, “I read the article this morning, as I’m sure you did, and there was absolutely no mention of me anywhere in it. And if there had been my parents would have been writing to the Editor at this moment, telling them they had no right to do that. No one is interested in me and I don’t want them to be, whatever you think. And in a minute everyone in the school is going to have forgotten that they stopped talking to you in the first place and they’ll all be claiming they were with you all the way. No one will remember that it was just me.”

Harry blushed. He knew he had been being ridiculous and he didn’t really know where the outburst had come from. He had been angry since he had read the newspaper that morning. He really hoped she didn’t mean it all had been out of duty. He had thought she had actually liked him. “Lyra-”

“And for the record,” Lyra cut him off. “While I certainly don’t expect gratitude, because that would be daft, just so you know, I haven’t seen my boyfriend in a week. My friends were all mad at me, because I wouldn’t tell them what I was doing. I’m behind on my homework for the first time in three years, because I’ve been helping you. And, honestly, I don’t like being the centre of attention, so this isn’t exactly a joy for me, either. So, while I understand that all of this is very stressful for you, I don’t appreciate being a proverbial punching bag!”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Lyra straightened her robes. “Fine,” she said, not looking at him. 

She marched over to the door and opened it, glaring until the small crowd that had gathered got the message and left. She indicated to Harry to go out and he hurried to do so. She led the way to the Charms corridor, making sure to walk just ahead of Harry.

“Lyra, I-”

“I thought you might like to talk to some of your real friends before class started,” she said stiffly. “I’ll see you later.”

At least that was something, Harry thought as she walked off. He hoped he hadn’t messed it up completely with one outburst. He wasn’t sure who his ‘real’ friends were at the moment.

Harry squared his shoulders and stepped the Charms Classroom, which was already full of his Gryffindor classmates.

“Harry!” was all he heard before he had a face full of bushy hair and Hermione’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. 

“Hi Hermione,” Harry croaked.

His air supply was released when Hermione stepped back with a gasp.

“Was that all right? I didn’t mean to-”

“What?” Harry asked, confused.

Hermione blushed, “Well, I just thought, with your uncle and everything…”

Harry frowned, “I’ve always been all right with it in the past, haven’t I?”

“Oh!” Hermione said, brightening up immediately. “Well, yes! It’s so great that you haven’t been affected by it all. It’s so brave of you!” she squeezed him again. 

“Um… sure,” Harry said.

Ron stepped over, looking even more shamefaced than he had done yesterday in the tent.

“Listen, mate,” he said. “I really meant it yesterday – I’m sorry I was such a prat and I never really thought you put your name in the Goblet.”

Then why did you say it? Harry wanted to say.

“Look, I just wanted you to know I’m here for you and stuff…” he said, slapping Harry on the shoulder.

Harry just nodded. 

“I’m really sorry, mate.”

“Are you coming back to Gryffindor?”

“We really had no idea-”

“If we’d known we wouldn’t have-” 

One by one the rest of the Gryffindors came up to him to offer their awkward apologies, while Ron and Hermione stood by him. Neville was beside himself with things he should have done differently. Hermione kept grabbing his hand and squeezing, until Harry put his hands in his pockets.

Luckily, it was only a couple of minute before class was due to start and Professor Flitwick came in before Harry could make sense of his emotions and formulate a response to any of it. 

“Well class, now that we have covered the theory, it’s time for us to move onto banishing charms. As I’m sure you remember, these are much the same as summoning charms, and it is important to remember to control the intent of where your object is going, or we will end up with a lot of cushions trapped in the ceiling again. Now, Miss Brown, if you could just distribute the cushions? Very good. And please everyone remember to aim away you’re your classmates, however appealing the thought of surprising them might be. We don’t want any accidents. Mr Potter, come here and I will place a shield charm on you, just to be on the safe side…”

Harry kept his head down as the rest of the class organised themselves, all a bit pink at his condition being referred to like that. None of them had managed to bring it up yet.

“Calming breaths, Mr Potter,” Flitwick reminded him with a smile. “And don’t get frustrated if you don’t get it first time. Calming breaths. Focus on the flow of you magic.”

Harry smiled tightly, wondering why no one else was getting the same advice. He hurried back to his desk, being sure to avoid the cushions that were already zooming around the room.

By the end of the lesson he had at least managed the spell, although it didn’t feel quite right. Flitwick had seemed pleased though and promised that they would work on it more in their next lesson. Because he had stayed behind to have the charm on his stomach lifted, only Ron and Hermione were left. They seemed more than happy to walk to lunch with him, although when they made it into the hall, neither of them seemed to have anything to say. They both just kept staring at him and then looking away sheepishly whenever he caught them… exactly like every other student he passed.

Harry wished he could think of something to say to break the tension, but was fairly sure if he opened his mouth he would end up saying something unreasonable like he had to Lyra. He certainly had reason to…

“You know, Harry,” Ron said suddenly, his ears red. “Hermione was in the library all morning looking up… you know.” He gestured to Harry’s belly. “Dragged me along and all, but said I was useless. She found loads of books. I swear the pile went over my head.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t there last night,” Harry said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

“Well, McGonagall…” Ron trailed off. Harry didn’t know exactly what had happened last night. Snape had told him about Dumbledore’s speech and that all the Houses had been given talks, but he didn’t know what had been said.

Before he could ask, Hermione piped up, “Oh, yes! I didn’t find that much, but it’s so fascinating that you’re a Bearer, Harry! Did you know Merlin was a Bearer? And everyone thought Dumbledore was one, until he publically admitted he had tested negative. I mean, lots of fantastic wizards have been bearers. I suppose it’s to do with the added magical layer, or something…”

“It’s just a mutation of normal magic,” Harry said, remembering having read about it in The Bearer’s Lot. There had been something about it indicating a greater access to your magical core, but it hadn’t gone into much detail and it hadn’t seemed relevant, what with his own lack of talent, so he had never looked further. “Just means I’m weird,” he muttered.

“Have you looked into it?” Hermione asked.

“A bit.” What did she think? That he would just decide a baby falling out of him was one of those things and ignore it?

“It’s a fascinating subject,” Hermione reiterated.

“Sure,” Harry said as they reached the Great Hall.

As Harry entered the Hall, it was like the sound had been switched off. Everyone was staring. Harry kept his eyes down and quickly sat at the Gryffindor table, joined by Ron and Hermione. Harry could see Lyra at the Slytherin table, talking pointedly to her friends, who were all clearly trying their best not to seem like they were interested in Harry.

He caught her eye after a moment. 

“Sorry,” he mouthed. He didn’t know why he had gone off on her that morning. There had been no reason for it, apart from she was the only one there and he hadn’t really got his head round Aunt Petunia being released.

“It’s fine,” she mouthed back. “Sorry too.”

She nodded to Ron and Hermione, who were arguing about homework again and Harry shrugged. Nothing had really happened yet. They were trying, but it felt a bit like walking through mud. Lyra shrugged back.

“Are you eating, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said. He turned to the platters in front of him and carefully selected a chicken breast, baked potato with some cheese on top and some green beans. He could feel eyes on him from all around, making him tighten his grip on his fork.

“Harry, are you sure you should be eating that?” Hermione said, the frown evident in her voice. Ron looked up from his own plate, before returning to wolfing down his food like it was going to be his last.

Harry was confused. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, even as he took a big bite.

Hermione glowered, “I’ve heard chicken’s really bad when you’re pregnant. It can make you really sick… or was it the baby? Either way, you shouldn’t be eating it.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown, “The midwife said so long as I made sure it was cooked through, I could eat pretty much everything, except certain fish, but we don’t really have that here. And no soft cheese. Apart from that, she said to go with what I wanted.”

“You’re seeing a midwife?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Yeah!”

“Okay. But I’ve still heard-” 

“I think I’ll go with the midwife, thanks,” Harry said, some of his irritation seeping through into his voice.

“Suit yourself,” Hermione said, picking up her fork. Harry glared at her. She sounded so sure of herself, he suddenly felt bad about his choice. What if she was right and something did happen? Sighing, he turned to his potato and green beans. He could feel Hermione smirking at him.

Harry glanced round the Hall, trying to distract himself from his annoyance with Hermione, and Ron’s washing machine style of eating. Every way he looked, as soon as his eyes tracked over an area, the conversation would stop immediately and the students in question would start nudging each other. It just highlighted that they were gossiping about him. Again. Harry hadn’t thought much could be worse than second year, or recently, but apparently he was wrong.

“Dumbledore said you were fourteen weeks,” Hermione said between swallows.

“Fifteen,” Harry corrected. Well, fifteen weeks in two days.

“Oh,” Hermione pouted, consulting a piece of parchment. “Ooo! That means you’ll be able to feel movement in the next couple of weeks! And according to what I read this morning, that means your baby is about the same size as an apple. That’s cool, isn’t it?” she laughed, holding up an apple from the fruit bowl for comparison.

Harry took the apple and took a large bite. “Actually, the midwife said they’re a little smaller.”

“They! You mean-” Ron started.

“Harry! That’s awful! Here,” Hermione started loading his plate with every food in sight, to the point where it made him feel a little sick to think of putting all of that in his stomach at once.

“Hermione!” he yelled. When she had stopped turning his plate into the Leaning Tower of Pisa, he turned to Ron first. “I’m saying ‘they’ because I don’t want to say ‘it’. The Healers all did it and I like it. It’s quicker than saying ‘the baby’ all the time.”

Ron shrugged, but seemed to accept it.

Harry turned to Hermione. “The midwife said it was nothing to worry about yet, so long as I eat properly- which does not mean eating out the kitchens!” he yelped, as Hermione grabbed another ladle. “They said they were going to watch out for it, but it shouldn’t cause any problems at this point and was probably just because I’m so young.”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Harry, I’m sorry. Of course. I can’t believe- I just want to help…”

“Well, you know,” Harry said. “The best way you can help is just let me get on with it. I’ve read loads of books about it too, and spoken with the Healers and I think I know what’s best for my body right now.” That’s what the Healer had said to him. He needed to do what they said, listen to his body, and go to them if there were any problems.

“You don’t need to be aggressive,” Hermione said. She sounded hurt, although Harry didn’t think he had said anything mean. He just wanted her to stop messing with his food.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “She was just trying to help.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean it was helpful,” Harry pointed out. “I’m trying to tell you what’s actually going on-”

“That would be a first,” Ron grumbled.

Harry froze. He wondered when everyone had stopped talking. He was well aware that the nearby Hufflepuffs were hanging on their every word. 

“What does that mean?”

Ron glanced at Hermione and sighed, “Nothing.”

“No,” Harry pushed. “It clearly meant something. What?”

Ron threw down his fork. “All right then. If you’d told us what was going on, we’d know what you could and couldn’t eat and what you needed and stuff. If you’d told us right at the beginning we could have helped you get away!”

Harry felt all the air leave his lungs. For a minute he wasn’t sure he would ever breathe again. Hermione was telling Ron off for being so insensitive and Ron was already trying to backtrack.

“Is that what you think?” Harry demanded. “That this is my fault?”

“Harry, of course not-”

“That’s not what I said,” Ron defended himself.

“That’s what I heard!”

“That’s not my fault!” Ron shouted. He snorted, “Fine! If that’s what you want to hear, then if you’d just told someone what was going on, instead of playing the martyr, we could have got you out of there and all of this-” he waved his hand at Harry stomach. Harry covered it automatically. “-wouldn’t have happened.”

You could have heard a pin drop. Harry sat frozen in place for a second, before pushing his plate back so hard its contents splattered across the table. He picked up his bag and walked out of the Hall without a backwards glance.

“Harry!”

Harry whipped round to see Ron and Hermione fighting their way through a sea of students that were trying to follow him. He tried to speed up, but Hermione had broken loose and blocked off his escape.

“Ron didn’t mean it. I swear. You know he has no control over his mouth sometimes.”

“Harry, I-” Ron started.

“YOU WHAT!?” Harry screamed. He had wondered where his breaking point would be and apparently this was it. “You didn’t mean it? You never do! I’m sick of it and I have other things to worry about.”

He tried to break away from the gaping hordes, so he could go and have a meltdown in private, but Ron snatched his bag, yanking him back. 

“Harry, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said-”

“Shouldn’t have said what?” Harry challenged. “What everybody’s thinking?” he glared at the crowd who didn’t even have the shame to pretend they weren’t there just to watch.

“Harry, you’re just overreacting,” Hermione said. “Nobody thinks-”

“Don’t they? It’s the obvious thing, isn’t it? Why didn’t he tell someone when he first came to Hogwarts? It’s all been sorted immediately without any fuss at all. Of course that was what would happen! Anybody could have seen it!” he shouted.

Hermione blinked at him, “We understand, Harry…”

“No you don’t,” Harry snapped. “I don’t understand, so how can you?” Hermione flinched away from him and Harry’s stomach curled.

Ron was staring at Harry like he’d gone mad. He could see Lyra out of the corner of his eye trying to get the other students to move aside so she could get through, but for now he was surrounded. He pulled at his hair in frustration.

“Do you know what else I don’t understand?” he said to Ron. “Why did I even have to tell? WHY COULDN’T SOMEONE BLOODY SEE!?”

Ron took a step backwards.

“I told you, when we first met- I told you I lived in a cupboard,” he snarled. “I told you outright how awful the Dursleys were. Why didn’t you tell someone about that?”

“I- I- I thought you were joking, or being nice because of the sandwiches or… I mean… I didn’t think you could be serious…” Ron gabbled.

“Exactly!” Harry laughed. “Who believes an eleven year old they don’t even know? Maybe if it had been something you could definitely see for yourself? How about… oh, I don’t know, before second year? You had to rip bars off my windows and get my stuff from the cupboard – my cupboard, by the way – where it had been locked up,” he could see the twins standing stock still in the crowd. “You yourself told your mum that they had been starving me. Do you think that was the first time? Or did you think I was exaggerating?”

“No,” Ron moaned. “Harry, I’m-”

But Harry was on a roll.

“Or before third year? When I had to run away because I accidentally inflated Aunt Marge. Yeah, it was a big joke, except Uncle Vernon would have killed me if I’d stayed. And not in an ‘oh, mum will be so cross, she’ll kill me’ sort of way, I mean actually dead. Everyone kept treating me like a stupid little kid who hadn’t got his way and never actually asked why I left,” Harry rubbed his forehead, trying to get his thoughts in order. All the things he had wanted to scream were boiling to the surface.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm down and tune out the murmuring crowd. He didn’t care if they heard. Nothing was more humiliating that what was in that article. He focussed solely on his shaking friend.

“Okay, so maybe it’s fair enough you didn’t notice all that stuff. They’re muggles after all and maybe you thought… I don’t know what, but maybe you thought it. Fine. But what about the fact that they never write to me, ever? Hermione’s parents are muggles and they still write to her at least every other day,” he looked over at his other best friend, who had tears all over her cheeks. “Last year they sent me a toothpick for Christmas, and that was only because Hedwig wouldn’t leave them alone until they sent something. You were always there when that happened. You were in the next room when I lost Rowan,” his voice cracked. “You all kept saying how chubby I was getting. Did you think I lost the weight overnight by magic?”

“You said you were sick,” Ron whined. “And I never-”

“-saw,” Harry finished for him. “Yeah, I know. The Dursleys taught me to not draw attention to things and I guess the lessons paid off. I didn’t say anything and you didn’t see anything.”

“Harry-”

“What did you expect me to say,” Harry asked, completely detached. “Did you want me to walk up to you and be like ‘hi Ron, I know we’ve only just met but MY UNCLE LIKES SHOVING HIS COCK UP MY ARSE’?” 

Finally spent, Harry leant forward with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath and stop his head spinning. 

Ron surged forward, “Harry, I-”

“OW!” Harry exclaimed as a sudden pain stabbed through his stomach, sending him to his knees. “Agh!” It happened again.

Lyra vaulted over a first year and ran to his side.

“Something’s wrong,” Harry gasped. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. “I think- Something’s wrong,” he whimpered.

“It’s all right, Harry, we’ll get you to the Hospital Wing,” Lyra whispered, rubbing his back. “I’m sure it was just the excitement.”

“Step aside! Away! I said step aside!”

The gathered students finally started to unwillingly dissipated, although Ron and Hermione still hovered nearby, clearly not sure what they were supposed to do.

Professor McGonagall appeared in the corner of Harry’s eye. 

“Mr Potter, where does it hurt?” she asked, her voice full of worry.

“My stomach,” Harry groaned. “It keeps stabbing. I think…”

McGonagall patted his shoulder, “None of that. Miss Fawley, kindly escort Mr Potter to the Hospital Wing, while I have a word with Mr Weasley and Miss Granger.”

“Come on, Harry,” Lyra said, gently taking his arm and helping him upright. Harry let himself be pulled along like a marionette. She dragged him along an empty corridor. All the students must have been properly scared away by McGonagall. They must have known where he was going.

He whimpered and doubled over as another sharp cramp wracked his lower belly.

“Harry!” Lyra cried, holding him upright. “It’s all right, just… Sam!”

Harry groaned, “I can’t- not again…”

Lyra made a distressed noise in the back of her throat, “It’ll be all right, Harry. You… It doesn’t feel like last time, does it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted.

“Well… Pushing! You said last time you felt like you needed to push. Do you feel like that now? SAM!”

“No,” Harry gulped. 

“Well, that’s good,” she said breathlessly. 

Running footsteps came up behind them. 

“Thank Merlin,” Lyra yelped. “Harry, this is my boyfriend. He’s going to help me get you to Madam Pomfrey, okay? She’s going to check you over, but I’m sure everything’s all right. Now, can you walk, or is it okay if Sam helps you?”

Harry tried to put one foot in front of the other. He really did. But his body just wouldn’t respond. He knew when he got to the Hospital Wing Madam Pomfrey would tell him that he had lost his temper and that meant he had lost the baby. It was all his fault. Maybe if he just stayed right there, none of this would be real.

Lyra sighed. “Come on.”

Both Harry’s arms were hooked over the back of a person on either side of him, virtually carrying him through the corridors. He never once looked up. It wasn’t real.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Lyra shouted.

The Medi-Witch came out of her office to see what was going on and immediately shooed them over to a bed, where Harry was deposited. He didn’t even react when his feet were lifted onto the mattress too. 

“Mr Potter, I don’t want to do an invasive exam right now if I can help it. I don’t think it would do you any good,” Madam Pomfrey said, as she waved her wand over Harry’s body, sending tingles of magic through him. “So, I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“Hurts,” Harry moaned.

“Where?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“His stomach,” Lyra said.

Madam Pomfrey turned round, “Ah, Miss Fawley. And Mr Trent. I appreciate why you’re here, but I’m going to have to ask you to give Mr Potter and myself some privacy.” She swept wand once and curtains closed around Harry’s bed. She turned back to Harry, “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I can’t lose…” his voice cracked.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “All the scans I just ran say that your baby is fine.”

“But-”

“As I said,” Madam Pomfrey interrupted. “I don’t want to have to give you an invasive exam when you’re in this state of mind. Can you tell me if everything is as it usually is?”

Harry blinked up at her.

“I mean, has anything… ascended.”

Oh. Harry blushed. He couldn’t believe he had to do this in front of the nurse. And what if he just confirmed that he was losing the baby?

Very tentatively he reached down and felt.

He closed his eyes and leant back.

“Well, Mr Potter?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine,” he murmured. After all that. He had made a complete fool of himself. He felt totally exhausted.

“Excellent,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Now that’s you are a little calmer, I would like to run a couple more tests and then we can take things from there” 

She waved her wand over Harry, but before she could give him the results, there was a flurry of activity outside the curtains. A second later, someone swept next to the bed.

“I heard there was a commotion involving Potter,” Snape said to Madam Pomfrey, probably not even looking at Harry on the bed. Harry kept his eyes firmly shut, wanting to block  
everything out.

“There is no need to go around bursting into conversations, Professor Snape,” she scolded, but didn’t send him out. “Mr Potter is not losing the baby, despite his fears. The pain he experienced was round ligament pain from the baby growing, which is to be expected at this stage. However, the stress of the last few weeks has definitely caught up with him. His blood pressure is extremely high and I’m going to have insist that he rests until at least the end of the week. I’ll examine him at that point and see where he’s up to.”

“You mean bed rest,” Snape frowned.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, “Reduced activity, although I would recommend as much sleep as possible. Mainly, he just needs to get rid of as much stress as possible and give himself the chance to regroup. I would say, no schoolwork, minimal physical activity… just generally resting.”

Snape was nodding.

Harry, through the fog, couldn’t help but be annoyed that Madam Pomfrey was telling all this to Snape and not to him. Wasn’t the man just going to chuck him out now that everyone knew? He was meant to be going back to the Tower now. Harry groaned. He didn’t want to stay in the dormitory right now.

“I will get him settled in the dungeons and inform the House Elves of the situation,” Snape said. Harry’s eyes snapped open.

“Good,” Madam Pomfrey said. “And I also notice that Mr Potter is not putting on weight at the rate we would expect with the supplement potion he is taking. I think possibly setting up a diet of small meals spread throughout the day, rather than relying on him being able to stomach three big meals would be a good idea too.”

“I shall see to it,” Snape said. “Is Potter ready to leave now?”

“Certainly. He just needs to take it easy.”

“I will see to it,” Snape frowned. “Get up, Mr Potter. It seems I must escort you back to your room.”

Harry slowly got up, feeling like he was moving through treacle. What was happening? Maybe if he kept his breathing shallow, no one would notice he was about to start crying. He just wanted to be alone.

Snape sharply pulled the curtains aside and gestured Harry through.

Harry stepped out, squinting into the Hospital Wing, which seemed very brightly lit all of a sudden. And why was everything so loud? Lyra was standing by a bed opposite, with a very tall Ravenclaw, who looked a bit startled. She ran over to him.

“Harry! Is everything…”

Harry nodded. “It’s fine,” he whispered.

She smiled. “That’s great. Listen-”

“Miss Fawley, I am well aware you and Mr Trent have a Potions’ Class that begins in ten minutes. Go and inform your classmates that I shall be a few minutes late.”

“Yes, sir,” she said stiffly. The Ravenclaw tugged at her sleeve until she finally was forced to walk away.

Snape sighed.

“Come, Mr Potter.”

Harry followed like an automaton. Snape led him briskly through the castle, glancing back occasionally to make sure he was still keeping up, but mainly using all his dungeon bat charm to scare off the few students that were hanging around. Had it been any other day, Harry would have found it quite funny to see them scuttling away, but he was too busy concentrating on keeping himself together. Just a few more corridors. One more staircase. The Potions Classroom was down there. That must have been Lyra’s class. Snape’s Quarters. Finally.

Snape opened the door for him. Harry stepped through and stumbled over to his usual seat. It was as far as he could get without collapsing. He stared round the now familiar rooms. Nothing had changed since he left that morning. His book from the previous evening was still on the coffee table. Snape’s stack of journals was still slightly askew from Lyra knocking into it last night. One of the curtains was still half drawn across the enchanted window and a blanket was screwed up on the sofa. Harry wished he could reach out and grab it to wrap around himself, but he felt paralysed. He knew if he moved a centimetre he was going to break. 

“Mr Potter?” Snape said softly. He sounded almost as if he was worried about Harry…

Harry nodded, feeling the first tear worming its way out of his eye.

“If you require anything, call Nippy. I shall be in classroom until three.”

Harry nodded again. He heard the swishing of robes and waited three beats, until knew that Snape had left him alone. Unable to bear it anymore, Harry wrapped his arms around his stomach, doubled over and released a scream six weeks in the making. It was quickly followed by another and then another, until he was weeping into his knees, trying to gain some comfort from his own shaking arms. 

“M’ P’er. ‘self ‘ge’er ‘ink o’ ‘by” 

Someone was saying something somewhere, but Harry was hearing as if from underwater. It was as if he could experience nothing through the tsunami of misery that had descended on him.

There was a whoosh somewhere in the back ground and more talking. It sounded… he didn’t know, but someone was there. He had thought he was alone. He had thought he was finally able to give in to his emotions.

Harry gasped and hit out as strong arms pulled him up from his seat and over onto the sofa. His shaking legs collapsed underneath him and he fell into a warm embrace. He hit out again. He didn’t want to be touched. He wanted to be alone. He tried to scream, but couldn’t breathe through the tears. A hand started carding his hair, feeling foreign and tingly on his scalp. 

He needed to pull it together. He needed to get away. 

Summoning all his strength, Harry held his breath until the most recent sob died in his throat. He screwed up his eyes to try and shook his head, trying to clear it and throw off whoever had hold of him. The grip redoubled.

“Shhh. It’s okay Harry. I’ve got you. It’ll all be all right. I promise,” Mrs Weasley crooned into his hair and patted his back. 

Harry froze for a second, processing. He was curled up on Snape’s sofa, on Mrs Weasley’s nap, having a breakdown. He began crying full force again and sank into her embrace, his own hands placed protectively over his bump.

Harry had no idea how long they stared there; him being held in such a way as he couldn’t remember ever being… probably he hadn’t since his mum had died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up will be Severus and Minerva sorting out the Gryffindors and Molly has some words for her brood.
> 
> Update on 21st December. Sorry it won’t be Christmassy :/
> 
> Please leave a review, if you want…


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you for the utterly amazing reviews!
> 
> Sorry for the slightly late update.

Stalking out of his classroom, Severus groaned. How was it that Potter was even able to ruin the one class he was usually able to enjoy: his final year NEWT students? It had been impossible to concentrate, knowing that Potter was back in his quarters, in goodness knows what state, not helped by Miss Fawley glaring at him constantly. Fortunately, they were in the middle of a long brew and there hadn’t been much practical work beyond checking the potions were stewing properly. Severus tried not to think about the extra marking he would have to do, since he had been forced to set them all an in-class essay on the dangers of thickeners, rather than initiate his usual discussion. 

Snape took a deep breath before opening his door. In his quarters were, not one, but two emotional Gryffindors and he was not sure he had the reserves to deal with such histrionics. While he knew it had been the right decision to floo Molly Weasley, he was still nervous as to what she might have done to his rooms. His gut twisted as he remembered Potter’s anguished cries, as he had hesitated by the door. A second later and he might not have heard it. He had had no idea what to do, but had known that there was no way he could leave the child alone in such a state. Molly had just been the first person to pop into his head… even if she was a Weasley, it had been the right thing to do.

He really hoped Potter had calmed down.

Steeling himself, Severus whispered ‘stella herba’ and stepped into his living room. 

Quiet.

Everything was in its rightful place. Nothing was broken…. The sofa had clearly had an overly exuberant cleaning charm put on it, but apart from that… 

Potter’s door opened and Molly slipped out. She closed the door silently and stood for a second, sniffling, with a hand clutching her chest. Then she caught sight of Severus.

For the first time, Severus understood why the threat of their mother was the only thing that kept the Weasley twins in check. He barely managed to restrain himself from stepping backwards, as the fiery haired matriarch advanced on him, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed. 

She stopped dead in the middle of the room and seemed to swell. Severus tried to remember that these were his rooms and she was there under his invitation, but before he could form this into a biting comment, she had thrown a ward over Potter’s door.

“I must insist-”

“Harry will not be hearing what I have to say,” she bit out. “I try to teach the children to respect their elders and he should not have to hear us arguing.”

Severus would not stand being spoken to like that, never mind the action. Molly Weasley née Prewitt was from an old pureblood family and she knew exactly how rude it was to place wards in another person’s home. Essentially she was calling him incompetent. Severus drew himself up to his fell height, which was a good foot taller than Molly Weasley.

“How da-”

“What on earth have you lot been thinking!?” Molly shouted, her hair crackling with fury. “It took me over an hour to get Harry calmed down.”

Severus couldn’t help but peek over her shoulder at the shut door, wondering what was behind it. But it was hardly his fault the boy had reacted the way he had. He had made sure Potter had a roof over his head and ate and… what more did she want?

“Did anyone think to explain to him that he was not going to be sent back to that dreadful woman!? Or whether or not he is expected to live on his own now? No! You didn’t even think to tell him what classes he is taking! You just expected him to figure it out on his own!? That boy needs stability! Something he has been sorely lacking for years. You can’t just stick him in a room and tell him it will all be handled. That sort of behaviour is how he ended up with those vile people to begin with! Did you even think to offer him some comfort? Ask him how he was feeling? What he needed? Offered him support for any questions he might have? No! You just declared what was best for him and left him not knowing what way was up!”

“I-”

There was a knock at the door, preventing Severus from taking full advantage of the only pause Molly had taken so far. Which was probably lucky as he was fairly sure it would be like arguing with a bulldozer. Glowering at her, Severus strode over to the door.

“Severus,” Minerva greeted him shortly. “I was wondering if- Molly!” she surged forward to meet the glaring matriarch. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking care of Harry, since no one else seems to be,” Molly said, folding her arms to prevent Minerva taking her hand.

“Where is he,” Minerva said worriedly, looking around, as if they were hiding him behind the curtains.

“Asleep, finally,” Molly said. “And he’s going to remain that way!”

Severus wasn’t about to go and wake him. 

Minerva sighed in relief, “Poppy told me it was just a scare-”

“Quite a scare,” Molly declared. “He was convinced he was miscarrying. Convinced! I’m not surprised after all this…” She flapped her arms, unable to think of an appropriate adjective. “And then throwing him out into the world like that. How did you think he was going to react?”

“I take it Potter has… opened up to you?” Severus couldn’t help but sneer.

Molly shot him a vicious look. “All it took was actually listening.”

“Molly,” Minerva tried to placate. “That’s not entirely fair. We have all tried to help where we can.”

“HA!” Molly cackled. “I say again: a room and food is the bare minimum any living creature at this school gets. Harry said that none of the teachers, apart from Severus, have spoken to him about anything outside lessons, and, from the sound of it, even with Severus it was only what was required.”

“What would you have me do!?” Severus thundered, glad for the new ward. “I am not a councillor. As you said, food and accommodation has been provided. I have helped him with the damnable task, organised as much of this mess as possible. What more does he want!?”

“Some compassion wouldn’t go amiss,” Molly snapped. “I should have known better than to think you would be able to be kind to Harry, even when he was hurting so badly.”

Severus felt himself flush and reached for a defence. He had done what he thought best and the boy had hardly complained about it up until now. Granted, he hadn’t said much else… nothing about the abuse. The news of what he had shouted today had spread through the school like wildfire and clearly meant that Potter had far more he needed to say…

But still, it was better than just leaving him to stew in a room somewhere, which is what the other would have had them do. Didn’t he deserve some credit? 

Molly turned on Minerva. “Where have you been through all of this? I know you are busy, but really. You could have discussed what was going to happen to the Gryffindors, at least.”

“I would, of course, have talked to Harry,” Minerva huffed, pink cheeked at being talked to so by a former student. “I wanted to talk to Harry, but he never came to me. I would have answered any questions he had.”

“Did you tell him that!?”

Severus closed his eyes. “He won’t ask questions,” he realised, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He thought back over his dealings with the boy since that night in the Hospital Wing: every time Potter had had to formulate a question, he had seemed so unsure of himself, as if he expected some sort of response other than that of answer.

Minerva frowned at him, “If he has questions, why wouldn’t he ask them?” she asked, displaying once again he complete lack of understanding of Potter’s situation.

Severus sighed, “Think. Have you ever heard him ask a question in class?” Before he had thought it was just through laziness, or arrogance, but it seemed that was yet another effect of the abuse they would have to tackle. Curiosity was essential to the development of the mind and Severus could admit that Potter was certainly not stupid, so he must have a questioning mind hidden away somewhere.

“I… suppose not,” Minerva said, frowning in concentration.

Severus sighed again and swept past Molly, who squawked as he opened Potter’s door and stared at the boy curled up in bed. Even from the door, he could see that the boy’s hair was more rumpled than usual – Molly had clearly been stroking it. He was pale, with raw red tear tracks still staining his cheeks and he was curled up so tightly he looked about the same size as the average five year old. He had a vice like grip on his blankets and was holding them to his chest for comfort. He looked young and vulnerable.

Severus closed the door silently. He would never admit it out loud, but he had perhaps been remiss in his dealings with Potter. Perhaps he had been too focussed on the practicalities of the situation and not enough of Potter’s… emotional… wellbeing. He nearly snorted. It was absurd that he, of all people, was expected to handle a heartfelt conversation with the boy, but who else was there?

“When he is a wake, I shall come to talk to him!” Minerva was declaring, her eyes wide with compassion, but Severus knew that that was not an option. He wished the other inhabitants of the castle weren’t so oblivious to abuse. 

He knew Filius had started to read up on abuse and its effects, to aid his research into Potter’s magic, but the man was so theory based there was no way he would be able to get the boy to open up. Pomona would just start crying and flapping her hands. Minerva would be full of righteous indignation, but she refused to see the total gap in her understanding, and – though he would never say it to her face – Severus suspected she was scared stiff of what Potter might say. 

“I shall endeavour to have a more honest and open dialogue from hereon in,” Severus said quietly, earning an approving nod from Molly Weasley, which he had most certainly not been seeking.

“Good, well then-”

She was cut off from any further tirade by another knock on the door. Severus rolled his eyes and went to open it, muttering. Before Potter had been foisted on him by everyone else’s incompetence he had lived a life of blissful solitude, only occasionally interrupted by indisposed Slytherins, who were perfectly content standing by his doorway. Since Potter had set up in his guest room, there seemed to be a steady stream of annoyances coming and going constantly. If this was anything less than an emergency…

He threw open the door, with his haughtiest expression plastered on his face, to find and uncharacteristically nervous Miss Fawley standing behind it. 

“Is Harry all right?” she asked, twisting her hands in knots. She had clearly been thrown by the whole ordeal at lunch and Severus still needed to have words with his colleague about sending her off on her own like that. She would have botched her potion this afternoon without Severus’ intervention, something she had not done in three years.

“Mr Potter is sleeping,” Severus said.

“Oh… can you tell him I came by?” she asked. “We had a sort of fight earlier and I just want to make sure he’s all right and… I said some things I shouldn’t have and… I was just worrie,d after everything…”

Severus raised his eyes to the ceiling, “I am sure Mr Potter bears you no ill will. As you yourself have pointed out, he is far too forgiving for his own good.”

Just then, Minerva popped her head over his shoulder.

“Ah, Miss Fawley, excellent. If Professor Snape is happy with the idea, we were just wondering if you would be free to sit with Mr Potter for an hour or so, while we sort out a couple of things?”

The girl’s face lit up. “Yes! That would be great, if Professor Snape is fine with it?”

Both women looked up at him enquiringly and, feeling backed into a corner, he felt he had no choice but to agree.

Lyra grinned. “Can I just go and grab some books?” she asked.

“That would probably be wise,” Minerva nodded. “Mr Potter is sleeping and you will probably need something to do.”

Miss Fawley ran off, disappearing round the corner too fast for Severus to tell her to slow down.

“What was that for?” Severus rounded on Minerva. 

His old professor was unapologetic. 

“I came to tell you that I am going to talk to my Gryffindors about punishment,” her eyes were especially steely. “You wished to be involved in that, if I recall. And Molly wants to talk to her children and Miss Granger, so she can’t stay with Harry and neither of us think leaving him alone is a good idea.”

“Of course it’s not!” Severus fumed. He could not fault their logic, but hated decisions being made behind his back. Molly was back in Potter’s room, fussing away over the unconscious boy and Minerva looked so cussed, there was no way he could argue at all. It would be fun to watch the Gryffindors be taken down a peg or two, by Minerva no less… cathartic was the best word. And Potter had always seemed happy in Miss Fawley’s company…

Crossing his arms and scowling, to show at least token resistance to the scenario, Severus stood in stony silence awaiting Miss Fawley’s return.

After a few minutes of bustle, during which Molly gave the poor girl strict instructions about how to use a floo (the girl was eighteen and raised in a magic household), who to contact (Poppy, obviously) and how to deal with Potter, should he wake (talk quietly and give him food seemed the gist of it) they were finally able to leave. Severus felt a momentary stab of guilt at once again leaving Potter when he was in such a weak state, but harshly brushed it aside as he faced the enjoyable duty of watching Gryffindors be shouted at by someone other than him. 

After dropping Molly off at Minerva’s office, Severus followed Minerva through the short distance to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Oh, Professor McGonagall,” the painting twittered. “Two days in a row, my! What’s-”

“Balderdash,” Minerva said through pursed lips. She had always hated the Fat Lady, although, beyond her being incredibly annoying, Severus had never been able to find out why. In a drunken moment, the portrait had started to talk about youthful indiscretions, and Minerva had charmed a gag over her mouth, so he suspected it would be interesting, if the pink horror wasn’t scared stiff of Minerva now. 

For just the third time in his Hogwarts career, Severus stepped into the garish red monstrosity the Gryffindors inhabited. The Common Room was half full of children doing their homework, chatting, playing gobstones and chess… you would never think to look at them that they were as big a bunch of blighters as you were ever likely to get. 

Minerva cleared her throat and silence instantly fell. Severus couldn’t help but be impressed – whatever her shortcomings, she was a formidable teacher.

“I trust everyone has remembered that the entire House is under restrictions?” she said sternly.

A grumble went through the room, but they all nodded.

“Very well. Since I have allowed ample time for library books to be picked up, Prefects, gather the rest of the students now.”

The prefects scrambled off to do her bidding.

“House Arrest?” Severus queried sotto voce.

“I thought you’d approve,” she muttered. “Apart from meals and lessons, all students are to remain in the Tower for the next two weeks. I gave them a half hour leeway after lessons to retrieve anything they may need from the library.”

“They’ll be tearing each other apart in a matter of days,” Severus pointed out.

“I shall assign detentions, should that occur,” Minerva smirked. “They need to learn to live with one another.”

Severus raised an eyebrow as the last of the Gryffindors piled into the cramped room, all eyeing his as if he were the devil himself. 

Minerva surveyed them beadily, checking that they were all present. “Good evening, since many of you were too distressed last night to discuss anything beyond Mr Potter’s circumstances, I should like to now sort out the specifics of detentions.”

McLaggen, scurried away alone in the corner, gulped. Severus allowed a cruel sneer to grace his features. Minerva had already promised that he would take the worst of the troublemakers to do with as he wished. He had been stock piling crusted cauldrons for a week and had just ordered a bulk load of frogs that needed harvesting. 

“I will start with saying that I am extremely disappointed. In all of you,” Minerva started. It was always interesting how those simple words from the right person could make children writhe. “You’re behaviour these last few weeks has been, quite simply, unacceptable. Because of this, I shall be implementing a new regime in this House.”

She turned to Severus. 

“Professor Snape and I have been discussing the matter, and I have decided to bring our House policies in line with those of Slytherin House. Therefore, I shall be instigating Monthly House Meetings, during which time any concerns you have can be discussed either with the group, or in private with me. This is in addition to the open door policy that I try to operate. My regular office hours will be placed permanently on the notice board.”

Several students, especially the younger years, looked very pleased with these developments. 

“Additionally, I shall be making myself available on Thursday evenings for a one hour homework review session. I shall come to the Common Room and will be available to aid you.”

Again, the younger years were thrilled. Severus knew from experience how invaluable most students found one on one teaching time, and it tended to make the students appreciate their House more, aside from the Quidditch team and points.

Now for the sticking point.

Minerva gathered herself, knowing that her next policy would not be popular. “Also looking at the curfews of the other Houses and the results their students are garnering,” she looked slightly pained for a second. “I have found it necessary to implement a strict bedtime-”

She was immediately cut off by an explosion from the flabbergasted demons. Minerva deftly silenced the lot of them with a bang from her wand and an icy stare.

“Students will be in their dormitories by their allotted time, and I will be placing wards to let me know if a student is out of bounds.”

“That’s not fair!” the Weasley twins cried in unison.

“It’s… Orwellian,” Katie Bell, a muggleborn, said.

Minerva pursed her lips. She was not fond of these sanctions, but had been unable to find a reason not to put them in place, when faced with the combined forces of the other three Heads of House. 

“You have behaved like children. You will be treated like children,” Minerva snapped. They are children, Severus wanted to add, but satisfied himself with a malicious smirk. He wished he could bottle the scandalised looks on the Weasley twin’s faces. This whole escapade would be somewhat worthwhile, if it curtailed their troublemaking. Well…

“First Years will be expected to be in their dorms by nine thirty. Second Years by ten o’clock. Third and Fourth Years by ten thirty. Fifth and sixth years by eleven. Seventh Years, for now we will treat you as adults, but this is a privilege that can be withdrawn.”

Severus himself found that timetable rather lax. His own Slytherins had curfews half an hour earlier than that across the board and didn’t complain, despite the Gryffindor’s muffled cries that they would never be treated that way at home. Maybe if they had been they might not be such dunderheads now.

Granger raised her hand, timidly. Minerva nodded to her.

“What about homework?” she asked.

“You should all be perfectly capable of time management at this point and I don’t think any Professor assigns so much homework that you must all be up until the small hours completing it.”

Severus students glanced at Severus. He raised an eyebrow. Had none of them heard of utilising the weekends?

“What about detentions?” Lee Jordan asked, without raising his hand.

“While I hope you all try and avoid gaining detentions,” Minerva started, clearly not even believing it herself for a minute. “Your Professors have been informed of your restrictions and they shall be adhered to. Anytime they are not, I shall be informed.”

Seeing that they were going to argue more, Severus felt the need to step out of the shadows and move this business along. “You cannot be expected to function on only a few hours’ sleep. You will all find the routine will improve your productivity immensely.” He glared down at them, daring any of them to argue with him.

“What if someone gets ill and needs to go to the infirmary?” A snotty third year asked.

Minerva made an annoyed sound at the back of her throat. “The curfew is in place for your own health. Of course, you are still to fetch me or Madam Pomfrey in the case of an emergency!”

Severus suddenly appreciated why Minerva avoided the Gryffindor Common Room. He already felt a migraine coming on.

“Molly is in your office,” he muttered to her, hoping it might move things along.

She nodded minutely. Over the muttering, she said, “Now, full details will be put on the notice board, but the detentions, on top of the House wide restrictions, are all students who are known to have worn the… Potter Stinks badges-” her lips thinned. “-are to serve detention with me for the remainder of this week and the entirety of next week. Six thirty to eight. That should leave you plenty of time to finish your homework. A full list of names will appear on the notice board. Professor Snape, I believe you would be best served to explain the rest.”

She stepped back, a vindictive smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Severus sneered at the assembled Gryffindors, who were not showing much courage in the face of their beloved potions master.

“Since Professor McGonagall will be busy at this time, I will be taking the worst offenders,” he purred. “Serving detention with me for this week and next week will be the entirety of the Fourth Year-” Brown and Patil squealed in indignation, but they were as capable of being Potter’s friend as the next. At least Longbottom was accepting his punishment with good grace – maybe Severus would give him the pleasanter tasks for once. “Mr McLaggen and his cohorts, Mr Smythe and Mr Cattermole, you will be serving detentions with me nightly until the New Year. I suggest not wearing your finery.” He smirked evilly. “If you behave, I might even allow you the weekends off,” he couldn’t help adding.

Of course, he would not be taking all the detentions, as he had far better things to do, when his marking was complete, but he would ensure that Filch provided adequately disagreeable tasks for the miscreants. 

Before the students could get themselves worked up into a Gryffindorish frenzy, Minerva cut them off.

“Right then, if there is nothing further…”

A single hand raised above the heads of milling children.

“Yes, Mr Weasley,” Minerva sighed, watching the strangely quiet youngest Weasley boy.

“Is Harry all right?” Ron Weasley quietly asked.

Severus didn’t think the room had been that silent since he entered.

Minerva’s features softened ever so slightly. “Yes,” she said. “It was not a miscarriage and Mr Potter is resting.”

“Is he coming back to Gryffindor!?” Finnegan shouted.

Any good will that might have been filtering through to Minerva vanished. “That is entirely up to him, Mr Finnegan. And kindly do not simply shout the first thing that comes into your head! Now, I want Miss Granger and the Weasleys in my office at once. Professor Snape will escort you,” she said, much to the disgust of the gathered Gryffindors.

“Why’s that greasy git taking them!?” Finnegan yelled again, even as Dean Thomas shushed him.

Severus, now in the portrait hole awaiting the students, rolled his eyes at the unoriginal insult.

“Ten points, Mr Finnegan!” Minerva announced. “And please feel free to add to your detentions.”

Smirking, Severus led the subdued group out and they made the short journey to her office. Not wanting to trail along with the oddly serious Weasleys, Severus swept ahead to Minerva’s office door, making the effort to billow his robes so wildly that they had only just settled down by the time the last of the idling teenagers reached him.

Following quickly to catch up and raising an eyebrow at his ‘theatrics’, as she was certain to call them, Minerva opened the door.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!!?” Molly bellowed before even one of them stepped through. 

Severus didn’t blame the children in the slightest for just standing there. He didn’t particularly want to put his head in the lion’s mouth by going in, either.

Minerva, on the other hand, seemed quite satisfied with the situation. “In you go,” she ordered her students, quite cheerfully. 

They filed in, all looking like they were walking up to the gallows, and lined up in front of a very irate Molly Weasley. She glared at them, her hands on her hips, leaning forward, a scowl on her face so pronounced she might have caused permanent divots in her forehead. The Weasley children looked stricken, while Granger seemed confused by the beast in front of her. Severus supposed she had never had cause to be on the receiving end of the woman’s wrath.

“Abandoning your friend… Allowing him to move out of the Tower… Not going to a Professor… I raised you better than that.”

The children, including Granger, hung their heads in shame.

“Fred, George,” the terrible twosome shifted uncomfortably, their ears matching their hair. “I can’t believe you two would be so irresponsible! Why didn’t you tell someone? Why didn’t you go to Professor McGonagall?”

“He said he was all right,” one of them mumbled.

“REALLY!? Molly screamed. “And you didn’t check. And here I was thinking that, as much as you are trouble magnet pranksters, at least you cared enough about your family to keep an eye on them.”

“We do mum.”

“Honest.”

They both looked a bit sick.

“Then Harry isn’t part of our family?” Molly demanded.

“No,” they whined simultaneously.

“All your brothers – all of them – I could trust. You two… I am very disappointed in you.”

They both looked like they wanted to sink through the floor.

She turned to the two teachers and Severus once again resisted the urge to step backwards.

“Have you given either of them detention?” she demanded of Minerva.

“No Molly,” Minerva said. “They haven’t really done anything to warrant-”

“Nonsense,” Molly said. “And you will both be grounded for a week as soon as you get home.”

“But we’ll be of age!” they shouted. Molly ignored them.

“Ginny.” The girl jumped. “I can’t believe you would be treat Harry so, after everything he did for you. You should know better.”

Miss Weasley’s shoulders were jumping. It was clear she was crying. Molly moved on from her too. One of the twins slipped an arm round their devastated sister.

Molly rounded on the youngest boy and Granger.

“I can’t believe you two,” she started. “Where to begin. How could you just abandon Harry like that?”

“We didn’t-” Granger attempted to defend herself.

“You did! And to think I was with Harry for an entire day a week ago and he never said a word about how appallingly my son was treating him. I have never been so embarrassed. I raised you better than this, Ronald.”

Severus swore he could hear small sobs coming from the boy. Molly had barely raised her voice and never once sworn at her children, or threatened violence, but still they  
responded to her. 

“Hermione, I will be writing to your parents and letting her know just how you’ve behaved, since you are not my child to punish,” Molly promised, causing the girl to squeak. “Both of you have been dreadful friends to Harry when he needed him most and now, when he was willing to overlook that, for both of you to behave in such a way…”

Granger glanced through her bushy hair. “Mrs Weasley, I didn’t-”

“You did!” Molly countered. “Harry needs your support. He does not need you spouting off facts like a walking textbook.”

The girl turned pink and her lips twisted, but that had been far gentler than what Severus would have said to her.

“I was with Harry all afternoon and he was absolutely shattered by how you both behaved today. Ron, how could you blame him for his uncle’s actions?” the boy lowered his head even more. “And Hermione, how could you accuse him of trying to hurt his baby and stop him eating? Surely you can see how thin he is.” Granger gabbled a bit, but in the end, she too looked down.

Seeing that the children were thoroughly cowed, Molly finally took pity and gathered the lot of them into a sniffling bear hug.

“There there,” she comforted. “We’ll sort it out. You’ll see. But you all need to do better.”

After a few minutes of teenagers being soggy, Minerva being dewy eyed over the family and Severus feeling uncomfortable, they finally split apart.

Ron Weasley noisily blew his nose and blushed as his mother wiped his eyes for him.

“C- can we see him, mum,” he asked, still remarkably meek. The others looked hopeful. “To… apologise and stuff. I want to be there, you know, for him and the… baby and  
everything. I really didn’t mean…”

His mother shushed him. “You’ll have to ask Professor Snape, dear.”

His eyebrows scrunched. “Why’s that?”

“Well, Harry’s staying with Professor Snape.”

“WHAT!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I’m not entirely happy with this chapter and will probably be rewriting it in the near future. I have no excuse, apart from relatively little planning and a ridiculous new pile of work that came in on 28th November, with a deadline of 6th January!!! The last few weeks have basically been a series of heart attacks and this story has fallen a bit by the wayside, but I promise the next chapter is much better planned out.
> 
> Anyway, reviews are always welcome. Next chapter will be on 4th January 2019!!!!!!!!
> 
> I hope everyone has a very MERRY CHRISTMAS and A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews – they were very helpful and supportive.
> 
> Hands up anyone else who is living permanently attached to their hot water bottle (or equivalent… although the idea of not having a hot water bottle, if you live somewhere cold, is rather frightening. Hugging a dog also works, but it does make it difficult to get anything done).

Harry rubbed at the crustiness that coated his eyes. He squeezed at his throbbing sinuses as he sat up, grabbed his glasses and jabbed his wand at the light, so he could see the clock. Ten o’clock, although whether that was morning or evening remained to be seen. There was light sneaking in under the curtains, so probably morning. 

So, he had managed to sleep for nearly fifteen hours. He couldn’t remember much of last night. He had woken up to find Snape hovering over him, forcing a burger on him, but hadn’t managed to stay conscious long enough after eating for the man to actually talk to him. He didn’t feel much better for the good night’s sleep. It was like there was a shadow over his brain, trying to block out yesterday’s events, but just succeeding in highlighting them more.

On the bedside table was a pot of peppermint tea with a stasis charm on it, a plate of toast, his nutrient potion and a note telling him to call Nippy if he needed anything. He was alone for the rest of the day, confined to bed on Madam Pomfrey’s orders. 

Suddenly feeling very alone and very aware that he was in the dungeons with the entire weight of the castle sitting on top of him, Harry pulled the covers over his head. He had messed up. Bad. Ron would never speak to him again. Hermione thought he was crazy. Everyone had heard him admit what Uncle Vernon had done… properly. Malfoy would make him life hell. 

He rubbed his belly and tried not to wish it all away.

Curling himself up as tight as he could, and wrapped his arms around himself in poor imitation of a hug from Mrs Weasley. Harry let himself cry quiet tears.

…

“I trust you are feeling better,” Madam Pomfrey asked.

Harry jumped within his cocoon, as the medi-witch appeared, followed by Healer Wilson, his friendly specialist midwife. She smiled at him, slightly too kindly, and he resisted the urge to pull the cover back over his head. He still refused to do more than peek out from behind the pile of blankets he had gathered around himself throughout the day. The only times he had got up were to go to the loo and find another soft blanket in the wardrobe, which seemed to have a never ending supply of the things. Nippy had popped in at intervals, squeaking at him to eat, but apart from that he had been left alone.

“How did you get in?” Harry asked, disorientated and too tired to bother about being rude.

“Professor Snape gave us access to his floo,” Madam Pomfrey explained, setting down a big bag. “We didn’t think you’d want to venture through the halls after yesterday.”

Harry groaned and flopped back on his pillow. He didn’t want to think about yesterday. Ever. Whenever moments of it flickered across his subconscious he was overwhelmed by renewed anger at the way his friends had behaved and stabs of guilt as he remembered Ron’s face when he had said… 

He wasn’t going to think about it.

Healer Wilson bent over him and gently slid the covers back. “I just wanted to double check the baby was all right,” she said. “Madam Pomfrey’s tests show everything is fine, but we just thought it would be a good idea for me to check, just for your peace of mind. Plus, I think you’re ready for a full scan!”

“Perfect,” Madam Pomfrey said, far too chipper. “All parents love seeing their child for the first time and if Healer Wilson makes a copy of the image, you can add it to an album. It’ll cheer you right up!”

Harry didn’t respond, not even twitching a muscle. He hadn’t thought about being able to see the baby. It hadn’t come up before. If it was normal for parents to want to see their baby, did that mean he was abnormal? That he was going to be a bad father? He didn’t know how to explain to them that there was no way he was going to look at his baby, because then it would just hurt all the more when he lost them. Hearing the heartbeat proved they were there. That they were alive. If he saw them… Rowan looked like a baby, even when he had been dead. What if that happened again? He couldn’t face it, not after coming so close to losing them. Whatever the Healers said, he knew that was what had happened. They were just trying to be nice to him, to stop him feeling guilty for hurting his baby. 

“Roll over onto your back, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey ordered.

Harry paused, but saw no way round it. He couldn’t admit to them that he thought his baby would die, so what was the point? Then they would know what a bad father he was. He rolled onto his back, but shut his eyes firmly.

The heartbeat filled the room, strong and fast like always. Harry felt himself relax to the sound, but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, even knowing that his little bump was definitely still there. He shivered as his shirt was charmed up, hating feeling so exposed. The heartbeat in his belly rose with his own.

“You’re growing nicely, Mr Potter,” Healer Wilson observed. “Everything seems in order. You have a very healthy baby. Now for a picture…”

The sound of a complicated wand swish reached Harry’s ears and Madam Pomfrey cooed in the background. Still, Harry’s eyes remained closed.

“Unfortunately only midwives are trained in this particular spell, Mr Potter,” Healer Wilson said. “Madam Pomfrey will be able to let you hear the heartbeat, but you won’t be able to see the live movements of your baby until next time I am here.”

When Harry continued to lie there like a statue, she sighed and muttered a long spell. 

“There’s a picture, when you’re ready,” she said sadly, placing something on his bedside table. 

As soon as he knew she had finished her examination, Harry yanked his shirt back down, flipped over so he had his back to them and burrowed into his mountain of blankets. There was no way he was looking at that picture. There was no way he was getting attached. It would just hurt more.

“I’ll see you in two weeks, Harry,” Healer Wilson said. “I’ll be seeing you regularly, just to be on the safe side, so… if you ever want to talk about anything…”

Harry ignored her and she sighed. 

He heard Madam Pomfrey and the Healer leaving.

“… must watch out for his weight.”

“… still on the low side…”

“… thing I’m worried about most… depression…”

The floo flared and Harry was once again alone. Beneath the covers, he reached down to his hardened belly and stroked his bump, apologising for his cowardice as hard as he could, but never once turning to the picture.

…

Snape found him in the living room the next day. He had tried to stay in bed, but had suddenly been overcome with energy that forced him to jump up and go and do something. Harry had remained in his pyjamas, just pulling on a pair of bed socks and a jumper. He had been curled up in his spot, reading, for about half an hour when Snape came in and he just managed to straighten up by the time the dour man was level with him.

Snape looked at him down his nose. “I trust you are feeling better,” he said after a minute.

Harry shrugged. Truthfully, he felt absolutely exhausted again and was now definitely regretting getting out of bed.

Snape pursed his lips at Harry’s reaction. “You slept well?”

Not really. He didn’t feel any less tired. “Yes, sir.”

Snape didn’t seem convinced, but took up his spot on the sofa. “You are reading.”

It wasn’t a question, as it was fairly self-evident. 

Harry huffed, “Yeah. It’s easier with my new glasses. The old ones weren’t really any good for close up, or far away, but they did make things less blurry. It’s nice reading without getting a headache.”

Snape didn’t answer him for a few long seconds after that. “That would, I imagine, be an improvement,” he answered at length.

“Definitely,” Harry said. He glanced at Snape out of the corner of his eye. “It’s one of the ones from the shelf. Is… You said before-”

“That is fine, Mr Potter,” Snape said. “All unsuitable texts are permanently warded against underage students. The rest you are free to browse at your discretion, so long as you treat them with care.”

Harry nodded his thanks and gently placed the copy of Pride and Prejudice on the coffee table. Lyra had said it was her favourite book and, although it was a bit girly, he was enjoying it. Maybe Snape would allow him to take it into the bedroom. They sat in awkward silence for a while. Harry was beginning to consider good excuses for going back to bed when Snape finally spoke.

“I have been meaning to speak to you.”

Harry cocked his head.

Snape paused again. Harry would almost say he was... uncomfortable.

“I-”

“I do not believe you have been entirely honest with us about the abuse you suffered,” Snape said abruptly. 

Harry bristled, “I have-”

“Mr Potter,” Snape interrupted. “There is no way you can claim to have told us anything more than the barest outline of your experiences. And it is clear that you are not dealing with those experiences in an entirely healthy way.”

Harry gritted his teeth and tried to stop his hands curling into fists. “What do you know about it?” he spat.

“More than you might think,” Snape said, pulling Harry up short. He leant forward and looked Harry straight in the eye. “I know that the idea of talking is terrifying for you. That you have been taught since before you can remember that only pain comes from admitting what they did to you and however much you know you are safe, you still can’t believe it. Believe me, Potter, I know that. I also know that you will not be able to even begin to move on from your relative’s treatment of you until you confront it.”

Harry stared at him, chewing on his lip. He thought he understood what Snape was saying but…

Snape still refused to break eye contact. It was like he was staring into Harry’s soul. 

“I will give you a choice, Mr Potter, and you will choose one of these options,” he drawled. “This is non-negotiable.”

“I could just walk out,” Harry challenged.

Snape inclined his head, “You could. Guest accommodation can be made available to you in minutes, if you wish to leave. Feel free.” He smirked, as if he didn’t think that Harry could never do that.

Harry’s eyes darted to the door, wishing he could prove the man wrong and walk out then and there, but his body sank further into the chair. He didn’t want to go out there. He was safe in here, even if Snape was here. Whatever the man said, there were locks on his bedroom door… 

“I could just go into the bedroom and lock the door. What would you do then? Break it down?”

Snape sighed and finally looked away. He looked a little deflated, although as snide as ever. “If you are that desperate not to speak, Mr Potter, I shall not force the point to your detriment. Your room is your own and I will not violate that.”

A warmth spread across Harry’s chest and he had to lower his head as his eyes prickled. Snape had said it was his room! His very own. He… what did that mean? This was just adding to the tumult in Harry’s head. He couldn’t go around relying on this man.

Snape tried to catch his eye again. “While you certainly have options to leave, should you really wish to, I would ask that you at least try and talk to me. I promise to try and make it as painless as possible for you. I will not throw you out. It was… wrong of me to imply otherwise,” he grimaced at the almost apology. “I would be most grateful-” he gritted his teeth, “- if you would speak to me on the matter, or – If you would feel more comfortable – to a therapist.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. Neither option was good. “I don’t think I can…”

Snape nodded, as if he was expecting this. “I have some questions that I have prepared to aid you. It does not have to be in depth, but I would like you to…” he sighed heavily. “I would like to offer you an ear, should you need to talk in the future.”

Harry stared at him. It was too weird. Snape was offering to have a heart to heart conversation with him! He bit his lip again, this time tasting the edge of metal that always came just before he properly chewed through.

Snape watched him for a minute. “The option of an official therapist is always available.”

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t talk to a stranger about this. However professional they were, they were sure to have heard of him before and he couldn’t cope with someone who only saw him as The Boy Who Lived. You accuse Snape of many things, but falling for Harry’s ‘celebrity’ wasn’t one of them.

“I don’t know if I can,” Harry repeated. “But… I could try… I don’t know…” his voice was miniscule.

The corners of Snape’s mouth twitched and he produced a wad of parchment from under his journals.

“I do not expect you to say anything beyond what you find possible, but I would like you to try and answer these questions. It will help in the long run.” There was no emotion in his voice. It was totally analytical. 

Harry nodded, but shivered in the glow of the permanently lit fire. Snape looked around for something, before calling Nippy.

“Where are all the blankets?” he asked. He always had at least three in the living room.

“Theys be in Mr Harry Potter’s bedrooms Master,” Nippy squeaked. “Wes be moving thems into the wardrobe whens he bes needing them.”

Harry blushed and quickly excused himself to fetch a handful of blankets, feeling especially foolish when he saw the Princess and the Pea style make up of his bed.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled, handing them over sullenly. He didn’t really want to give them back, if he was honest. As much as it was embarrassing, he had felt safe and warm in his nest.

Snape looked at him oddly and handed the proffered covers back to him. “I merely thought you required greater warmth. And it might help you to make yourself comfortable.”

Harry nodded and went back to perch in the armchair.

“You don’t have to keep your feet on the floor at all times, Mr Potter. It would be easier for you and by extension myself if you were somewhat comfortable.” Snape sighed, his voice bitingly gentle. “I saw you when you came in and am well aware that currently this is your home. It would do you well to treat it as such.”

Harry wanted to scream that he had no idea what a home was and wasn’t that why they were here in the first place? And how was he supposed to know what Snape did and didn’t mind, since he never told Harry anything. Harry was playing along with the charade, because it seemed the easiest way of getting Snape to move on from whatever stroke had caused him to think that he could talk to Harry about feelings. That was all.

Instead of saying all this, though, he pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them, all three blankets draped around him.

Nippy popped in with a pop of peppermint tea and popped out again with a smile. Harry didn’t smile back, for once. 

Snape poured them each a cup and placed one in front of Harry, but Harry didn’t make a move to pick it up. He followed Snape’s every movement with his eyes, but apart from that, didn’t move a muscle.

Snape took a leisurely sip and settled back in his seat, before picking up his sheets.

“The criteria for physical abuse-”

Harry sat bolt upright. “What are you talking about?!” he demanded. “I thought we were talking about Uncle Vernon.”

“We are,” Snape drawled. “You refuse to categorise your experiences as abuse-”

“They weren’t,” Harry insisted. Snape glared at him and he blushed but still pointed out, “They didn’t hurt me badly. I was fine.”

“We have gone over this, Potter. I have read the report. You were not ‘fine’.”

“I was,” Harry asserted. “The report… the spell must have exaggerated. I wasn’t, like, fully abused.” He rubbed the back of his neck. It didn’t sound right, but he wasn’t. Aunt Petunia had always told him what happened to abused children and it wasn’t like he had never been allowed to go to school, or starve nearly to death, or been beaten to the point of going to hospital and whatever the report said, none of those things had happened. He knew what his Uncle had done was wrong, but the rest of it was just punishment that sometimes got a bit out of hand.

Snape just looked at him over his nose. “We will go through what abuse entails now. I want you to tell me, honestly, whether these things correlate to the way you were treated by your relatives.”

Harry swallowed. He couldn’t help but feel that this was rather like the quizzes Snape sometimes launched at them in class – those never ended well for Harry.

Snape’s eyes flickered over the parchment and he began, “Were you ever hit, smacked, or slapped?” he looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry stuttered, his eyes wide. That was far too general, surely. “I- Well- Not really-”

Snape was unimpressed, “Again, I have seen the report, Mr Potter. Were you struck?”

Harry gulped, “I suppose.”

“Very well, then,” Snape nodded, marking the question with an obvious tick. “Were you ever punched or kicked?”

“No.” Harry could be definite about that. Neither his Aunt nor Uncle were that overt… apart from a couple of times, but Uncle Vernon had been really angry those times.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Your cousin?”

“Yeah, but that’s not… That doesn’t count.”

“He was encouraged by his parents, was he not, even if they did not act upon the impulse themselves?”

Harry scowled, “Why don’t you just answer the questions yourself, if you know all the answers?”

“Were you punched or kicked?” Snape repeated, ignoring Harry’s displeasure. 

Harry tried to convey as much hatred as he could in his stare, but he still gave a short, single nod. It was marked.

“Pinching, scratching or biting? Or was your cousin encouraged to?”

Dudley’s gang had got bored in class. Another nod. Another mark.

“Shook or suffocated you?”

Harry flinched. “Ju- Just Uncle Vernon. If I… only in the guest bedroom,” he whispered.

Snape paused and marked it down slowly, before continuing. “Scalded, or burned you?”

“Not on purpose,” Harry said, sniffing. “I sometimes got burnt when I was cooking, but they never held my hand down, or anything.”

“You should not have been cooking in the first place,” Snape muttered. Harry shrugged and was relieved when Snape didn’t mark it down.

“Hair pulling?”

Aunt Petunia. A mark.

“Spitting at you?”

“No.” No mark. Dudley had spat at him a couple of times, but it was the one thing that Aunt Petunia scolded him for – it wasn’t the sort of behaviour a young gentlemen took part   
in, Harry mentally scoffed at the memory.

“Throwing things at you?”

Harry barked a choked laugh, “Mr Weasley can answer that… Yeah, Uncle Vernon threw things.” They rarely made their mark, and he just saw it as good training for avoiding bludgers. Snape still marked it down, though, even after he explained that. The man’s mouth was definitely getting tighter.

“Did they ever make you swallow something that made you feel ill?” Snape asked.

Harry thought back. No… he didn’t think so… “Sometimes they would give me leftovers that were a bit off, so they wouldn’t go to waste,” he admitted. “They would make me a bit poorly, but… I… I don’t know if that counts.”

Snape chewed the inside of his cheek, a bit like Aunt Petunia when she was holding back from gossiping in front of a neighbour. “Did they know it made you ill?”

Harry nodded. How could they not know? Aunt Petunia went out of her way to give him things she wouldn’t let Dudley eat, which meant food that had gone bad. Snape marked it down. Harry relaxed minutely. He had always hated it when they did that and had always blamed him if he made a mess when he was sick from whatever they gave him. 

“Did they call you names?”

Harry gaped at him. “That’s not abuse!”

Snape frowned, “I must disagree with you, Mr Potter,” he said silkily. “It is emotional abuse, which – before you contradict me – is most certainly an offense.”

Harry stared at his hands. There was lots of stuff the Dursleys had said that he didn’t want to talk about. No one had really asked him about it before. It wouldn’t show up on the report. 

“Yeah, they called me names,” he confessed softly. 

He found it oddly comforting that Snape’s voice didn’t change once. It was completely level, like they were discussing homework and nothing more.

“Would you care to elaborate?” Snape asked.

“No,” Harry said. Snape stared at him, until he was squirming. Keeping his eyes planted on his lap, he eventually said into the silence, “Boy. Freak. I didn’t know my name was Harry until primary school, although I definitely knew I wasn’t a Dursley.”

He saw Snape nod out of the corner of his eye, before the man looked down at the next point on his list, marking it off as if went, “Shouting at you, even when you hadn’t done anything wrong?”

“All the time.”

“Put you down.”

“Yes.”

“Ignored you, or left you out of things.”

“I never went anywhere with them. They didn’t want me to spoil it.”

“Said or did things to make you feel bad about yourself.”

“I ignored them. I knew they were stupid.”

“But they were said?”

“Yes.”

“Made you feel like you didn’t belong.”

“Yes.”

“Gave you responsibilities you should not have had until you were older?”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, slightly confused. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling like he was on an out of control broom again. He wasn’t even thinking about his answers and   
they were just coming out and he could see the column of ticks growing.

Snape frowned, “Did they make you do things that your classmates at the same age would not have done?” Seeing Harry still looked lost, Snape sighed, “At what age were you first set the task of cooking for your relatives, for example?”

Harry tried to think. It was strange trying to put a date on something that seemed so naturally part of his life – it was like asking him when he had started walking, or talking.

“Umm… around four, I think. I was definitely doing it before I started school, but not long before… I burnt it on Dudley’s first day.”

“You are the same age as your cousin,” Snape observed. “Were you not in the same year group.”

Harry blushed, “Yeah, but I had messed up so… I started a couple of days late.”

He waited for Snape to respond, but apart from his jawline stiffening again, he remained stoic. “That,” he said sharply. “Would generally be regarded as an unsuitable responsibility for a child of four.” He marked the point with a vigorous tick. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It was strange, sitting here, going through such a clinical list of things that Harry had trained himself not to think about, let alone speak about, with Snape, of all people. As much as he hated being there with a passion and just wanted to crawl back into bed, but maybe it was strangely cathartic to be able to quantify his experiences. He hoped there weren’t too many more questions, though – each one just brought back another aspect of the Dursleys and Snape’s stony features didn’t exactly help him feel any less vulnerable as the memories washed over him. He pulled the blanket Snape had given him tighter around his body and concentrated on the warps and cracks in the old wooden table.

“Did they ever treat you differently from your siblings,” Snape continues briskly. “In this case, we can substitute your cousin for sibling.”

Harry just nodded and swiped at his eyes. It had always been hard, having the picture of a loving family right in front of him and knowing he would never be part of it. Sometimes he had thought it was harder than when he was starving and serving up dinner. He didn’t voice any of this to Snape.

“Did they put you in dangerous situations?”

Harry thought for a moment, but had to shake his head.

Snape reacted for the first time: he looked at Harry like he had gone mad.

“What?” Harry said.

Snape pursed his lips. “I am well aware, Mr Potter, that you have withheld vast tracts of your early life, but what insights I have been granted have included several incidences of endangerment.”

“Like what?” Harry asked. “They never left me in the middle of a road. And they always let me back in from the garden by midnight. And-”

Maybe he had let too much slip then. Snape’s hand tightened around his quill and for a second, Harry was sure it would snap, but Snape caught himself at the last moment and spent a few seconds, his eyes definitely not on Harry, fixing it.

Snape’s voice was deadly quiet when he replied. “Explain.”

For a moment, he opened his mouth, visions dancing in front of his eyes, of Ripper, Aunt Marge’s bulldog, standing at the bottom of the tree Harry was hiding up, having had his heels and calves bitten through his trousers and his relatives laughing in the background; of finishing the weeding by the dim glare of the light pollution and neighbour’s lights, because he hadn’t finished fast enough during the day; of Aunt Petunia complaining that he was too filthy to be allowed in the house, after he had wet himself in his cupboard when they had refused to let him out all day and shoving him out of the door in his wet clothes…

Harry snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, his throat tight.

“Regardless,” Snape said. “As I told you before, locking you in your room, or cupboard, could have been extremely dangerous in the event of fire.”

“Could have been,” Harry pointed out.

Snape ignored him, “Not getting you medical attention when you needed it… had you been a muggle, they could very well be up on charges of murder.”

“But they’re not,” Harry muttered petulantly, crossing his arms. These were all ifs and buts, that didn’t amount to anything. It was all hypothetical. His relatives may hate him, but they had never wanted to kill him.

“Can you think of no time when your relatives placed you in a situation where even you can admit that you could have been seriously injured or killed?” 

Snape was doing that staring into his soul thing again and Harry hastily averted his eyes, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Nothing like that had ever… once again, Ripper snarling at the base of the tree floated into his mind.

He swallowed thickly and nodded once.

Snape tsked.

“A verbal answer, if you please, Mr Potter.”

Harry glared and cleared his throat. “Yes, I can think of times,” he admitted huskily.

Snape gave a self-satisfied not and marked it down. 

Harry hugged himself.

Snape shuffled his papers. “Were they ever aggressive, or violent to other people in the family and you had to witness it?”

Harry was silent for a long minute. His thoughts felt sluggish and he was aware from the tapping quill that he was trying Snape’s patience, however much the man was trying to hide it.

“Does that mean Dudley was abused, too?” he asked slowly.

Snape stilled his quill and stared down at his papers, as if maybe they held the answer. “You cousin was raised in a way that has warped his personality and skewed his concepts of right and wrong. Being exposed to regular violence and verbal abuse, even through it being rained on you… would certainly be traumatising for a young mind, even he didn’t actively recognise it as such.”

Harry nodded. “Will he get help?”

Snape gave his a hard stare. “I would imagine,” he drawled. “Am I to take that as you were the only one subjected to violence in the household?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “I think so.” He wondered about Dudley, now that Aunt Petunia had been released and sort of declared a victim like him, would Dudley go back to her? He couldn’t figure out if that would be a bad thing, or good. If Dudley went back, did that mean everyone would think Aunt Petunia was all right and Harry would be sent back too? Aunt Petunia had never been as bad as Uncle Vernon, but that didn’t mean Harry wanted to live with her again. Ignoring all that, how did Dudley feel about him now? If he had hated Harry before, surely that could be multiplied by a million – after all, he had put Dudley’s father in jail.

Snape broke through these thoughts with yet another question. “Were you ever prevented from having friends?”

“Yes,” Harry answered simply. It was just a fact. He wasn’t ashamed of that. “Ron was my first friend.” His eyes stung at the thought that he had lost Ron through that stupid outburst.

He didn’t have long to dwell, however, as somehow Snape still wasn’t finished.

“I would like to discuss neglect with you now,” Snape announced, pulling out another sheet. “Were you provided with clothes-”

“I had clothes,” Harry said. It wasn’t like the Dursleys had forced him to run around naked.

Snape glared him into submission. “Clothes that are clean and warm and shoes that fit and keep you dry.”

Harry gritted his teeth. Snape had seen his clothes, so he knew none of those things happened. He shook his head, angry at being forced to admit how shameful his clothes had been.

“Were you given enough to eat and drink?”

Snape knew he was malnourished. He shook his head.

“Were you given protection from dangerous situations?”

They had already covered that.

“Were you given somewhere warm, dry and comfortable to sleep?”

Harry thought for a moment. He had actually quite liked his cupboard for a while – it was warm (what with the boiler being in there too) and safe, since no one else could fit in with him, and when he curled up just right, he had thought it was comfortable… before he experienced a Hogwarts bed.

Before he could express this, Snape butted in again. 

“Somewhere where one does not run the risk of concussion from standing up, or suffocation in the event of the vent being closed.” He marked it down with a glare, as if daring Harry to argue.

Harry frowned. Uncle Vernon had often closed the vent and he had never suffocated… so he had been lightheaded a few times, but-

“Were you given help when you’re ill or have been hurt?”

Again, they knew about that.

“Were you given love and care from your carers?”

Harry scoffed.

“Were you given support with your education?”

Hardly. He had mentioned that already, he remembered from that horrible first night.

“Were you given access to medication if needed?”

Snape had already been so snippy about that that he didn’t feel the need to do anything other than shake his head.

Snape shuffled the papers again. There couldn’t be any more, surely!

“Now to discuss the sexual-”

“No!” Harry exclaimed.

Snape raised an eyebrow, “Can you quantify the abuse you suffered?”

Harry scrunched his eyes to try and stop the tears leaking again. “I know I was sexually abused, okay! We don’t have to go over it.”

Snape placed the parchments on the table at a precise right angle before turning to Harry. “Sexual abuse covers a wide range of scenarios, Mr Potter, all of which are appalling, but I don’t know that you are currently capable of tell me what was done to you.”

Harry scowled at his fists, ignoring the sick feeling curdling in his stomach.

“Do you know why I am asking you all these things, Mr Potter?” Snape said softly.

“Because you’re a git who like to hurt me,” Harry snapped. He held his breath as he waited for Snape to respond, sure that the dour man would storm out and release Harry from this torture… even if did mean that he was sure to receive a lifetime of detentions.

But Snape only sighed and answered his own question in his persistently annoying calm voice. “I am asking, because I do not think you understand what you have experienced.”

Harry’s eyes jerked up to meet his. “You think I don’t know what I went through?” he demanded. “It was my life!”

“I am well aware of that, Mr Potter,” Snape replied. “I do not, however, believe that you understand what was done to you. Even going through these things now you still refuse to fully acknowledge that what was done to you was abuse. That is not healthy.”

“And wallowing in what happened is?” Harry rejoined.

“If it leads to acceptance, yes,” Snape said tightly, still refusing to give into his annoyance at Harry’s disrespect.

Harry scoffed.

Snape eyed him for a minute before asking again, “In what way were you sexually abused, Mr Potter? Or would you like me to turn to the list and give you the language and parameters to see what was done to you?”

“I know what was done to me,” Harry growled.

“You refuse to-”

“I know what was done to me!” Harry shouted. “I know what was done and I know it was wrong and there was nothing I can do to change that now. It was my own stupid fault for not coming forward. I am not a victim.”

“Nobody is calling you a victim,” Snape said, as he impassively watched Harry gasp for breath.

“Really?” Harry laughed hollowly. “What do you call this then?” he pointed at the tick covered parchment. “What do you call the Prophet? You’re all trying to make out-”

“Ignorant.” Snape said. “I would call the Prophet ignorant. You are a child, who has been hurt. You were victimized-”

“So I am a victim?”

“It is a term. In the grand scheme of things a not very important one,” Snape drawled, leaning back in his chair. “You do not allow it to define you.”

Harry stared morosely at his hands again, growing increasingly bored of their shape.

“Nothing that happened was your fault,” Snape murmured, causing Harry to look up once more. “You were a child in their care. It was their responsibility to treat you well and it was in no way your fault that they did not.”

He kept saying that, but he didn’t understand.

“They never wanted me,” Harry said. “They didn’t ask for me.”

“And if a child was dropped off on your doorstep tomorrow, unannounced, unrequested and in far from ideal circumstances, would you treat it as you were treated?”

“Of course not!” Harry said, scandalised, dropping his hand to his bump. 

Snape’s eyes lit up in triumph, “And, pray tell, what is the difference?”

Harry mind blanked. It was like he had forgotten how language worked.

Snape continued, “You were just a baby when you were placed with that family and they did not even provide you with the bare minimum that any child – wanted or unwanted – needs. Not desires. Needs. That was not your fault. None of this, which is only an abstract outline of your experiences, is your fault and you are not responsible for their actions.”

“I could have stopped it,” Harry whispered. “If I had come forward…”

“You did come forward,” Snape said. “You went to your teacher at Primary School and you were turned away. No one can blame you for being… scared after that.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Harry bluffed.

“Self-preserving, then,” Snape amended, with a quirk of his head that might have meant he was amused.

“I didn’t think of it as abuse. I knew it wasn’t right but…” Harry said so quietly Snape had to lean forward to hear it. “It was normal. It’s not like I ever looked hurt and… I was different. I deserved different.”

“They made you think that.”

“If it was so bad then why didn’t anyone see it?”

Snape had no answer for that. His face was steely and his black eyes expressionless, giving Harry no comfort, or answers.

Harry shook his head. “If I had come to you before… without the baby… even if Uncle Vernon hadn’t... would you have helped me?” He needed to know. He couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was being blown out of proportion because of the baby. It hadn’t seemed that bad at the time – just how things were. And if things really were that bad, why had Aunt Petunia been released?

Snape waited until Harry’s roaming eyes met his and waited some more until he was completely transfixed in the potion master’s intense scrutiny. “Potter, despite what you may think of me, I would never allow a child to remain in an abusive home and, as we have established this evening, you were abused.” Harry’s gaze travelled down to the parchment again.

“Now, can you tell me what Vernon Dursley did to you?”

Harry held his breath. He tried to find that layer of numbness that had washed over him when he first woke up, when he hadn’t even managed to think for a good two hours. 

“He touched me,” Harry swallowed. “And… and made me have sex.”

Snape nodded, “That’s very well done, Mr Potter,” he purred. 

“He… I didn’t stop him,” Harry choked.

Snape sighed, “We have just been through-”

“I never told him no,” Harry insisted. “It’s only… that… when you say no.”

“That is simply not the case,” Snape said harshly. “It is whenever intercourse takes place against a person’s will. He knew you were not willing.”

“I never told him-”

“You told him you were uncomfortable with the way he was touching you and he then manipulated you into believing that the behaviour was reasonable. When things escalated your magic attempted to protect you and, even without that, he knew you were not willing. He knew you were a child. Are a child.”

“I’m not a child,” Harry mumbled. He hadn’t been for years. He ran a thumb over his bump. He couldn’t be a child.

“Mr Potter, I want you to say the word.”

“What word?” Harry tried.

Snape was having none of it. “You know which word,” he said evenly. “You have refused to say it up to this point.”

“Why is it important?” Harry sniffed, infinitely tired.

“Because you need to accept that is what happened, otherwise you will continue to in some way justify his actions.”

“I can’t,” Harry moaned. “I don’t want to.”

Despite his whining, Snape’s face remained remarkably soft. He watched as Harry squirmed and fought the truth, until he finally seemed to tire of the internal fight. “Mr Potter, what did Vernon Dursley do to you?”

Harry’s breath came out in short, sharp pants. “He raped me.”

Snape smirked, looking self-satisfied. Harry looked down at his lap, his eyes filling with tears again. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. About the fact that his whole childhood was a literal nightmare, which he would be revisiting shortly. About the fact that the only family he had ever known had decided, somehow, to do those things to him. About the fact that his baby was from rape. 

“I’m tired, Professor,” he announced softly, rising from his seat.

“Just one more thing, Mr Potter,” Snape stopped him, rising as well, after pulling something out from under his journals. “This is a diary,” he handed Harry a plain, black, lined notebook. “It is warded so that none but you can open it, without your express permission. I ask that you write in it of your home life, or about how you are feeling. You need not show it to anyone, but the act of writing has been proven to be liberating in cases such as this. If you are unsure what to write, you may use this as a departure point.” He slipped the tick ridden parchment into the book. “It will help you feel better.”

Harry stared dully at the book in his hand. He had just been forced to talk about it and all he felt was hollow. 

He turned his back on Snape without answering and moved silently to the bedroom door. He laid the notebook on top of the overturned scan picture on the bedside table and climbed into bed exhausted. He put his glasses on the bedside table too and rolled over with a sigh, not planning on getting out of his cocoon for a very long time.

While he would swear that it took him hours to get to sleep, Harry was unconscious when, three minutes later, Snape appeared at the door. He placed the copy of Pride and Prejudice on the crowded bedside table and draped the final blanket in the flat over the mountain, his face filled with sympathy and sadness, more expressive than any of the students would have given him credit for. It was a shame really. Harry would have found it quite interesting.

…

The dark, dilapidated house echoed with the sound of slithering as he glided along the floor, cutting a thin line in the inch thick dust that still hadn’t been cleaned from the hallway. An icy breeze raced up through the rotting floorboards, making him shiver. As he entered the first lit room he had come across so far, he didn’t even look at the occupants of the room, as he slid his way over in front of the fire and curled up, basking in the heat. 

One of the people was cowering in the corner, but he didn’t even bother to look over at the pathetic human, as that was usually where he was. He stretched out languidly, inching closer to where he knew the person was, until he was rewarded with a high pitched squeak, but soon tired of the game, preferring to be fully in the warm.

“They suspect, my Lord,” a man said in a rather breathy, urgent voice. “They know the Cup was tricked.”

“Are you being watched?” A high pitched, strange voice answered. A blast of cold air burst through the room, causing the fire to flicker and Harry to curl up even tighter in his pool of warmth.

“Everyone is,” the first man said. “The boy has disappeared. No one has seen him, though they say he is still at the school. Maybe it would be a good idea to start thinking of alternatives? Think about how much sooner-”

“If he is still there and must fulfil the contract, then the plan is still in place.”

“My Lord, he is being watched so closely and I have no access to the boy. Before it would have been impossible, now, there is no way we will retrieve him,” the first man insisted.

Another icy gust sped along the floor. “You will find a way,” the inhuman whisper replied. “Wormtail!”

“Master?” the snivelling wreck in the corner jumped.

“Milk Nagini. I will need feeding tonight.”

Another whimper escaped the ‘man’, causing a thrill of disdain to pass through Harry’s body. “Yes master,” he squealed, in deference and disgust.

“And as for you…”

The cold voice from the chair breathed great rasping breaths as the floorboards creaked with someone’s nervous shifting.

“… You have… disappointed me.”

“Master-”

“Silence!” he sounded excited now. “You will fulfil your task and you shall cease your mithering doubts. Bring me the boy!”

“I will my Lord. I will. I am sorry for-”

“CRUCIO!”

Harry sat bolt upright, smothering a scream. He leapt out of bed and collapsed on the bathroom floor, willing his splitting headache and lingering dizziness to leave him. After a minute hanging over the toilet, he finally felt safe to sit back. 

Ugh. His new pyjamas were soaked through with sweat and clung to him like a second, itchy skin. His head still felt like it was being cleft in two. He tried not to move his head and squeezed his eyes tight shut to block out the light. He felt horrible.

He had known that he would have nightmares after Snape had insisted they have that talk. Tendrils of anger clasped at him, as he thought of Snape’s smug expression when he had spoken to Harry, as if he hadn’t known what the effect would be. This was why Harry just ignored the Dursleys when he could. He didn’t want to think about any of it, especially not in bed. Especially not with his head lolled back on the freezing bathroom tiles, when his head was about to open up and spill his brains over the floor and the world was spinning off its axis.

He shut off all thoughts and feelings on that cold floor, trying to rediscover his equilibrium, if he had ever had any, until it was possible for him to peel himself up and clamber into the shower without his head falling off, or his stomach contents falling out.

He managed to stand in the shower, water rushing over him, and tried to remember his dream. It had seemed so real at the time and frightened him half to death, it seemed, judging by how much his heart was racing. For life of him, he could not remember what it had been about. A creepy voice and dust… It had all been rather strange. Not something Harry usually dreamt about, he was sure, although it had seemed important.

Well, Harry thought. At least it wasn’t Uncle Vernon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the criteria for abuse were taken from the Childline website. If you or anyone you know is experiencing the things described in this chapter, please visit https://www.childline.org.uk/info-advice/ 
> 
> I hope this chapter was better than the last. 
> 
> Next update will be January 18th.
> 
> Now I have to go and do some work-y work, because (yay) deadlines. Just a reminder that reviews cheer me up 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews!!!

Harry was curled up in bed, reading Pride and Prejudice. Nippy had forced a plate of eggs on him and a bowl of fruit salad and had finally agreed to leave him alone for a couple of hours. He had just got to the bit where Elizabeth meets Mr Wickham and was far more engrossed than he’d expected. Lyra had been right. 

He felt slightly calmer than yesterday. He had tried to write in the journal Snape had given him and although he had only managed a few lines, it felt quite nice to have control over what had happened to him. He supposed that was what Snape had been going on about. Now it was nice getting lost in Austen.

Harry laid down the novel when he heard the floo flared. Snape hadn’t mentioned anyone coming. Maybe Madam Pomfrey was back. Despite trying to keep his thoughts rational, he couldn’t help but feel exposed, lying in bed, still in his pyjamas, alone… he reached for his wand just in case.

The door opened.

Mrs Weasley marched in carrying a large bag.

“Morning dear,” she chirped.

Harry sighed in relief and replaced his wand.

“Hi Mrs Weasley. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Of course you weren’t, dear,” she said. “Professor Snape mentioned that you were going to be alone for most of the week, so I thought you might like some company.”

She summoned the desk chair over to next to Harry’s side of the bed and plopped herself down. Harry wriggled a bit, uncomfortable at being in bed in company – it wasn’t like he was an invalid, or anything. 

“Would you like something to drink, Mrs Weasley?” he asked, trying to be a good host, despite not even being dressed. “I can call Nippy.”

“That’s all right, dear. I had something before I left. I just wanted to see how you were doing. You had a nasty scare a couple of days ago.” She looked at him shrewdly, probably seeing very well that he had not been sleeping well and had spent most of his time crying.

“I’m okay,” Harry lied. “Professor Snape gave me this journal thing to write in, which kind of helps and Nippy is making sure I’m eating… and the midwife did a scan, so now there’s a picture…”

Mrs Weasley beamed. “That’s all lovely, Harry dear. Now, you get started on this, and let me take a look.”

Harry’s eyebrows skyrocketed as Mrs Weasley heaved her bad onto the bed and opened it to reveal dozens of packages of her specialities. He lifted out a little parcel of vanilla fudge (from the smell of it) and gaped at her.

“I know you love it at Christmas and you deserve a bit of spoiling at the moment,” she smiled. “Honestly, it’s nice to have an excuse to make so much. Arthur has never had much of a sweet tooth and my lot get embarrassed if I send them too many care packages. I know the fudge is your favourite at Christmas, but you always seem partial to my ginger biscuits when you come to the Burrow. I would have made some treacle tart, but Ron has told me repeatedly that Hogwarts’ is better and I do remember that that might very well be the case… I did make some treacle fudge as a compromise, though.”

Harry’s eyes prickled. He didn’t know what to say.

Mrs Weasley patted his hand. “Now, where’s that picture?”

Harry swallowed and gestured to the side table, unwilling to even look at the back of the scan picture. He had felt drawn like a magnet to it all morning, but whenever his hand twitched towards it, he had been overcome with memories of Rowan on the bathroom floor. He couldn’t articulate the struggle inside himself, between his desire to flip over the card and just stare at the image, or hide it away in a deep draw, where he wouldn’t be haunted by what might have been. If he had known about his pregnancy last time, he would have seen Rowan at the same stage; he would have connected with the little person right there and then – if that had happened, it would have been even worse when he died; it would make it even worse if… There were so many reasons, none of them made total sense, but the fact remained that Harry could not bring himself to look at the picture Mrs Weasley now held in her hand.

“Perfect,” Mrs Weasley sighed. “Eat up, dear. You’re far too skinny. I’ll get some meat on your bones, just see if I don’t,” she chuckled, before turning her attention back to the image. She was holding it so lovingly, despite that fact that the baby wasn’t even related to her.

Harry fished out a piece of fudge and nibbled at it, trying to ignore the emotions churning in his gut. The sweetness was heavenly, but cloying in his agitated state. He replaced the sweet and set the entire bag aside, not wanting to seem ungrateful, but he couldn’t stomach it right now. Mrs Weasley was the best mother he knew – what would she think if he knew he couldn’t even face a scan of his child? How was he supposed to be a good father when he couldn’t even do that?

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry half wishing that Mrs Weasley had just left him alone and Mrs Weasley humming to the picture.

“You know,” Mrs Weasley said out of nowhere. “I had a miscarriage.”

Harry’s head shot up. “What?”

Mrs Weasley nodded, her eyes sad and far, far away, but she sounded like she was just telling an anecdote, like it was something that had happened a long time ago on holiday. 

“It was before the twins. I already had the three boys and was run off my feet, barely time to stop. You know, I had hardly even clocked that I was pregnant again. There was a flu going round you see and we had all been a bit under the weather, but eventually we figured it out.”

She took a deep breath and smiled ruefully. Harry’s eyes were wide as she told her story.

“I was only about thirteen weeks along. We hadn’t even got round to telling anyone. I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. It was all so… Well, Arthur was devastated as well, but it had all been so quick and there were the boys… we moved on. Well, he… I couldn’t help but keep blaming myself; that maybe if I had done something differently, or… You know how it is…”

Harry looked down at his hands clasped in his lap. He knew. He had hidden it all in second year. Now, looking back, he had no idea how he had held all the pain in, but he had. He had known no one would understand, so he had just… ignored it. He couldn’t imagine Mrs Weasley having to go through that, though – the Weasleys were so supportive of each other.

“The problem was when I got pregnant again I was so terrified, especially when I found out it was twins,” Mrs Weasley sighed. “I didn’t want to lose them again and I was so stressed constantly. Honestly, until Arthur sat me down and I finally admitted what was bothering me, I thought I was going to end up in the permanent ward at St Mungo’s,” she laughed.

Harry didn’t realise he was crying again, until Mrs Weasley leant forward and wiped a tear from his cheek.

“Sorry,” he sniffed, scrubbing at his face, no he was aware of the trails all over his cheeks. He shouldn’t be crying. This was her pain. 

“That’s all right, dear,” she said gently. “Can I?” she asked, standing up.

Harry didn’t really know what she was asking, but didn’t think it could be anything bad, so he quickly nodded.

Mrs Weasley walked round the bed and clambered up next to Harry. Harry sat up straight.

“Are you sure this is all right?” she asked again, looking slightly unsure.

Harry hesitated for a moment, but he knew Mrs Weasley didn’t mean any harm and he actually felt nice having her so close.

Mrs Weasley smiled at him and very slowly, so Harry could see exactly what she was doing, drew him into a hug, until he was curled up into her side. He stayed perfectly still in her   
arms, hardly daring to breath. Sure, she had hugged him before, on the platform and when he had arrived at the Burrow, or he had first seen her in Diagon Alley, and he had spent an entire evening crying in her lap, but this was different. Peaceful. She was holding him. Cuddling him. It was so warm and calm. Even though he was surrounded by the dark, dank dungeon (it actually wasn’t that bad, but that wasn’t the point), he felt so perfectly safe.

Mrs Weasley whispered into his hair, “The twins were fine, Harry. I spent so much time worrying that I missed out on so much of what was actually going on around me at the time. I know it’s hard – impossibly hard – but you can’t let what happened rule your life forever.”

“But what if it happens again?” Harry breathed.

Mrs Weasley kissed the top of his head softly, “Then I will be here for you. And so will everyone else. You’re not alone this time.”

Harry’s breath caught and he once again found himself sobbing on top of Mrs Weasley.

“I’m sorry!” he cried.

“Whatever for, dear?” Mrs Weasley laughed.

“It’s so pathetic,” he whimpered.

“No it’s not,” she said. “It’s natural. Believe me. And much better out than in.”

Harry grimaced. She had said the exact same thing after he had made a mess of a sofa on Wednesday. Speaking of which, he needed to get himself under control, or they’d have a repeat of that. Taking deep breaths and gradually swallowing back the sobs into little hiccups, Harry eventually quieted.

“There. That’s better,” Mrs Weasley whispered.

Harry nodded. It was nice, in the crook of Mrs Weasley’s arm. 

Mrs Weasley sighed, “I do wish you would talk more. I wish I knew what was going on in your head.”

“That’s what Snape said, too,” Harry admitted.

“Oh? He talked to you then?”

“Last night. He made me talk through the… abuse… and gave me a book to write in. I dunno. It feels weird.”

“But very necessary,” Mrs Weasley said. “I’m glad he’s talking to you.”

“I guess.” Harry closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. He was far too wired to fall asleep, but some of the stress was beginning to seep out of his bones. He hoped Mrs Weasley didn’t have to go too soon.

“How was the check up with the Healer,” Mrs Weasley asked conversationally.

Harry opened his eyes. He shrugged, for want of a better explanation. “It was fine,” he said breezily, although even to him it sounded unconvincing. “They did the scan and said everything was fine. They lifted up my shirt, which was a bit… but they didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You should tell them that it bothered you,” Mrs Weasley mused. “She probably just didn’t think. It’s not something she will have dealt with before.”

Harry shrugged again. It was embarrassing to admit that such an everyday thing for the Healer freaked him out. He didn’t want them to think that Uncle Vernon had messed him up or anything… it had, but they didn’t need to know that.

“She needs to know these things, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said. “Otherwise she might end up hurting you by mistake. She needs to know that she needs to take these things into account.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Could you come? To one of my check-ups, I mean? I don’t know if I’ll remember…” That way at least someone would see the baby and he could look at her face. Mrs Weasley wouldn’t be able to hide if something was wrong.

Mrs Weasley beamed. “Of course, dear. I’ll need to talk to Madam Pomfrey about it, but I’m sure that shouldn’t be a problem. I’m always going to be here to help, I promise.”

Harry blushed and snuggled in closer.

Mrs Weasley pulled him into a tight embrace and waited until he was relaxed again before she said, “Harry dear, what do you think of the photograph?”

Harry went completely still. He couldn’t admit to it. She couldn’t know that he couldn’t even bring himself to look… what kind of parent does that?

“Harry dear,” she said again, stroking his hair. “I’ve been through it too, remember.”

He twisted closer into her arms. “I can’t look at it. I tried, but I just can’t.”

“I understand,” she said softly. “But I know you’ll feel better once you’ve looked. It’s obviously bothering you.”

“But what if…” Harry choked. “What if it happens again? What if I lose them and-”

“Harry,” Mrs Weasley cut him off, encasing his nervous hands in her calm ones. “If you lose the baby, even now, when you haven’t seen the picture, do you think it would hurt any less?”

Harry thought about it. That had been his argument for days, but now he thought about it… he shook his head. 

“I’m not going to force you to do anything. Whatever you think is best, I’ll support you,” she said, making Harry whimper in gratitude again. “It will get easier after you’re past the point you lost Rowan, but I really think you should look now, Harry. They’re in there and they’re safe. It will be all right, Harry. Your baby is all right and right there.”

Harry knew she was right. Whatever happened, if something went wrong it would hurt. He was kidding himself into thinking that he had any control over that at all. Before his rational mind could come to a decision, his hand started to inch its way over to the rectangle of card on his bedside table.

He curled onto his side, with Mrs Weasley’s warm weight behind him, anchoring him, and watched his hand grab the card. He pulled it back to him. His breath caught.

“It will be fine,” Mrs Weasley encouraged. “I’m right here.”

His hand flipped the card over. 

There was his baby.

The picture was quite clear although not clear enough that Harry could say for definite how much they looked like Rowan had. Trying to put aside comparisons, he stared at the image. They were kicking and rolling around in their limited space. He tried to picture all that going on inside him, but just couldn’t. They were in there. They moved jerkily and he could see their nose poking out. And their arms were moving about. His hand reached down to caress his bump. They were there. They were safe. Maybe soon he would feel it.

He watched until the photograph’s movements started their repeat. It wasn’t live, he remembered. This was how they had been when the Healer had been and he had been too chicken to look. He was looking now. 

A tear slipped down his nose. He couldn’t look away from the picture. There was his baby. His baby was there. For now, at least, here in the dungeon, they were safe.

“It’s going to be all right, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter. The full chapter is the same as last time, in that it is a series of shorter one shots that build up into a whole. The problem is that between work continuing to be a bit bonkers and then the new Spider-Man trailer coming out, which distracted me far more than it should have (or the appropriate amount, if you’re me), I haven’t actually finished the full chapter, so instead I’m going to post a one shot every few days over the next week or so and then go back to regular programming. 
> 
> I hope that’s okay. It feels weird to be posting something so short. 
> 
> Next chapter will be up by Wednesday at the absolute latest… more likely Monday.
> 
> Please review!!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I promise it won’t become a habit! Thank you for your reviews!

“I am so sorry about the way I behaved.”

Harry had just been coming round from a nap when Lyra came through the door.

“I can’t believe I said all horrid things,” she gasped.

“You weren’t the only one,” Harry winced. “I said some pretty awful things too.” All she’d been doing was trying to help.

Lyra would have none of it. “One, you weren’t that bad. Two, I really think you had an excuse, what with being stressed out to high heaven and hormonal.”

“I wasn’t hormonal!” Harry protested.

“Please,” Lyra rolled her eyes. “And anyway, just think you can ride that excuse for a whole six months. I only get it for a week a month and even then I have to cover it up for social niceties’ sake. Run with that excuse, Harry, run with it! For me!”

Harry laughed through his blush. He was pleased she had come to see him as she always cheered him up, but was getting a bit fed up with people just walking into his room.

Lyra settled herself onto the chair Mrs Weasley had left and Harry hadn’t bothered moving back to the desk, since he hadn’t really left the bed since she had left him with a hug.

“I came to see you straight after,” she said. “But you were asleep the entire time.”

“Sorry about that,” Harry said.

Lyra shook her head. “You needed it. I just didn’t want you to think I meant any of the things I said. I can be a right cow sometimes, ask anyone. You’ve just only seen the nice side.”

“And now?”

“The masks off. You’re doomed,” she threw her hands up in mock defeat.

“Oh well,” Harry smiled. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, sobering in the blink of an eye. “You were in a really bad way on Wednesday and I know everything’s fine, but-”

“I’m doing better. Not great, but… better,” Harry said, cutting off her ramblings. He bit his lip. “Is everyone talking about it?”

Lyra avoided his eye, choosing instead to stare out of the wide window. “Pretty much. It certainly wasn’t the most day to day thing to happen. You know how people are.”

“Yeah.” Harry knew very well how people were, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t hope.

“It’ll calm down eventually.”

“Always does.”

Lyra fiddled with her sleeve. “The Professors are actually following through on the zero tolerance policy.”

“So it’s not all on me now?” Harry asked hopefully. He didn’t think the student population would take kindly to him being the figure head of their punishments. 

Lyra shook her head. “They really are following through. The other day apparently Professor Snape took points off Malfoy in class for putting ingredient’s in Longbottom’s potion.”

Harry’s eyebrows disappeared so far into his hairline that they were quite possibly lost forever. “What?”

Lyra nodded absentmindedly, still fiddling with her cuff. “Yeah. Usually he waits until there’s no one around, so him doing it publically really sends a message.”

“I didn’t know he punished Slytherins at all,” Harry admitted, still slightly awed. 

Lyra scowled. “Of course he does, but it’s not that simple, you know.”

“Seems simple enough to me,” Harry muttered, thinking about all the times Malfoy had got away with murder and he’d been humiliated for breathing wrong.

Lyra studied him shrewdly for a long moment. “Slytherins aren’t treated well, on the whole,” she said. 

“Didn’t Slytherin win the House Cup and Quidditch Cup for, like, seven years in a row, or something?” Harry asked sceptically.

“Sure,” Lyra said. “But you know how everyone is. As much as they gossip about you, don’t you think it’s a bit much to be labelled as a problem, just because we’re sorted into a certain House when we’re eleven?”

“That doesn’t always-”

“Rather than plonkers like Malfoy being seen as just that (plonkers), we have to prove we’re not.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. He didn’t really want to see the grey area in this – the Slytherins made his life hell… well, Malfoy and his goons did and the rest… 

Lyra, seeing that he was beginning to crack, continued, “We have to prove that we’re not the stereotypical Slytherin if we want to have even a modicum of respect and even then… We have to be so much more careful than the rest of you, because even a hint of trouble and we’re automatically in the wrong.”

“But Malfoy-”

“Is a little snot,” Lyra sneered. “And we all think so too. Look, yes Slytherins are better at getting out of trouble, but we’re also just better than Gryffindors at not getting in trouble in the first place. Just look at you.”

Harry glared at her and shuffled down in his bed.

Lyra grinned at him. “You’ve been in more scrapes than Lockhart said he did. And that is saying something.”

Harry huffed, “Not like I went looking for them. I admit, I hadn’t really thought about it from the Slytherins’ point of view, and I’ll admit, some of you are all right,” Lyra winked at him and he smiled. “But can we agree that Malfoy is a-”

“Loathsome little ferret with a superiority complex? Sure.”

Harry laughed, taking himself by surprise a little bit. He leant back and stared at the ceiling, enjoying a moment of relative normality. “You know, the thing that I’ve always found weird with people like Malfoy is why they go around talking about blood purity and all that rubbish, but follow Voldemort.”

Lyra flinched, but didn’t say anything. “Because You Know Who was a leading blood purist and more powerful than the lot of them,” she said, the ‘duh’ being silent.

“But he was a half blood,” Harry said simply. 

“No he wasn’t.”

“Yes he was,” Harry sat up. “Voldemort was called Tom Riddle and he grew up in a muggle orphanage. He was a half blood.”

“How do you know that?” Lyra breathed, her eyes bright with… something. 

“How do you not know that?” Harry asked.

“Nobody knows that,” Lyra yelped. “Do you really think- Tom Riddle..?” she trailed off, staring into the middle distance. 

“I really thought everyone knew,” Harry frowned. 

“No one I know of,” Lyra’s shock had morphed into calculation. “If that’s true… How do you know?”

“He told me,” Harry said without thinking. He clapped a hand over his mouth.

Lyra was incredulous, “The night he tried to… sorry. Harry, I think this might be a dream or something. Why would he have told a one year old-”

“Not then!” Harry laughed. “In second year.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “You know, the Chamber of Secrets things. That was him.” Everyone knew about the Chamber, so it wasn’t like he was giving too much away. He just wasn’t sure exactly how much the students had been told. Actually, he didn’t know what everyone had been told about first year, either, but Dumbledore had said everyone knew what had happened with Quirrell, so…

“The Chamber of Secrets is a myth,” Lyra said. 

“Then why did everyone keep saying that I opened it,” Harry shot back with a glare.

Lyra sighed, “Because, as we have covered numerous times now, kids are gits. And we were all terrified with the petrifications and everything. No one actually believed that stuff about the monster. It was a cursed object, wasn’t it? They managed to find it and destroy it.”

She could scoff all she liked, a lot of people had definitely believed in it and told him so.

“The Chamber is real,” Harry insisted. “The entrance is in Myrtle’s bathroom. You have to be a parseltongue to get in. Tom Riddle found it when he was in school and then tricked… a student into reopening it through a weird diary thing that held his memory from school.” He wasn’t about to rat Ginny out, even if he was cross that she had been ignoring him. “That memory got made physical, because it was feeding off this person they’d possessed and he was going to come back as a sixteen year old and start all over again.”

Lyra was a combination of disbelieving and extremely excited. She decided to err on the side of caution, though. “Harry, have you… are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you haven’t been having nightmares or something really vivid.”

Harry glared at her, “It’s all in the records. Tom Riddle was a prefect. He got an award for services to the school – it’s in the trophy room. He got Hagrid arrested when it looked like the school was going to be shut down the first time, because he didn’t want to go back to the orphanage, so he framed Hagrid and stopped taking the Basilisk out-”

“Basilisk!” Lyra screamed. Harry froze. 

Lyra stood up and started pacing before Harry could carry on explaining, holding up a hand when he tried to speak. She stayed deep in thought for several minutes before falling back into her chair. 

“The students who were petrified, none of them would have looked directly at it. Creevey’s camera. The ghost… It makes sense,” she stared at Harry. “How did you survive?” she asked Harry in a soft voice.

“Riddle wanted me to be killed by the Basilisk, so set that on me, rather than curse me or anything. Fawkes, Dumbledore’s Phoenix, flew in with the Sorting Hat and I pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of it. I managed to kill the Basilisk,” he gulped, not wanting to talk about being bitten. He didn’t think she would take that well. “Anyway, I used one of the fangs to stab the diary and that seemed to kill Riddle before he could come back to full form.”

Lyra slumped back. “Let me get this straight. You, at twelve, after having a miscarriage,” Harry winced. “You found the mythical entrance to Salazar Slytherin's secret chamber, in a girl’s bathroom. You talked with one of the most deadly wizards of all time, albeit in teenage memory form – which is just one of the weirdest images I have ever experienced. A rare magical bird gave you a hat, which gave you a sword, which is also the stuff of legends and you fought one of the most rare and deadly creatures on the planet. Again, at twelve. And then you stopped said wizard from coming back and terrorizing us all again. At twelve.”

“It was a strange year,” Harry admitted with a grimace. 

“That’s insane.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, growing increasingly uncomfortable under her impressed scrutiny. “I thought everyone knew what had happened.”

Lyra shrugged. “We were told that the people in the Hospital Wing were being de-petrified and that everything had been sorted out. Shockingly, none of us immediately thought of a giant, thousand year old snake roaming the halls, although now that you say it it’s obvious,” she said sarcastically.

Harry grinned at her. It really was all quite absurd in hindsight. 

Lyra was still shaking her head. “Seriously, though – you met You Know Who when he was fifteen?”

“I think so. He didn’t say his exact age,” Harry said.

Lyra bit her lip. “And you’re sure he said he wasn’t a pure blood?”

Harry wracked his brain for the specifics. That night was at once seared into his memory and slightly blurry. So much had happened that it seemed like a great big splodge, with a bloody great snake’s head emblazoned over the top.

“He said his father was a muggle. He didn’t seem particularly happy about it. He called him a ‘filthy muggle’, I think.”

“So half-blood at the most,” Lyra said deep in thought.

Harry frowned. He didn’t generally like discussing blood status, even of Voldemort.

“What does it matter?” he asked pointedly.

Lyra snapped out of her trance and glared at him. “It matters,” she said crisply. “Because pillocks like the Malfoys followed You Know Who based on his stance on blood purity… and I think it was assumed by everyone that he was actually, you know… a pure blood. Or else he would be advocating his own destruction, which is so twisted. I can’t imagine what he was like as a teenager.”

“Twisted,” Harry agreed. “Best way to sum it up. Way too interested in power and way too manipulative.” He gave her a sideways look.

“Don’t you dare say anything about Slytherin,” she warned. “We just live together. It’s not like we’re sorted and then programmed. We just went through this!”

“Sorry. Automatic,” Harry held up his hands.

“We’ll work on it,” Lyra smiled. “Every time you’re mean about Slytherin, I’ll say that all Gryffindors are like McLaggen.”

Harry winced. 

Lyra’s face fell. “Sorry… I promise, he’s been taken down a peg or two. I don’t think any of us have ever seen McGonagall so mad. Filch is having a field day with him.”

Harry fiddled with a thread on one of his many blankets (he wouldn’t be giving them up without a fight) and tried not to think about how Dudley and his gang had reacted whenever a stray teacher at Primary School had punished them – Harry had always taken the brunt of their displeasure.”

“The rest of Gryffindor are really behind you now,” Lyra insisted. “I think they’re trying to make up for it… Do- do you want to talk about it, or anything?” For once, she seemed unsure how to continue.

Harry shrugged, but then shook his head. It was his problem. He would deal with it. He sighed and looked over at a frowning Lyra. 

After a second, Lyra smiled at him, trying to take away some of the gloom that re-descended on Harry. 

“Seriously, though. You Know Who as a teenager!”

“Why are you so hung up on this?” Harry moaned. “And please don’t start telling everyone.”

“I won’t,” Lyra said dismissively. “It’s not important and I know it would just cause problems. By the way, is the Basilisk still in the school?”

“Under it,” Harry corrected. “And just the carcass – that thing is very dead.” He shuddered.

“Not now, obviously, but you should go and get it at some point,” Lyra said conversationally. “Harvest it, I mean. Basilisk parts are literally worth their weight in gold and then  
some and if you’re the only one with access to it, since you’re the only parselmouth around, plus I think there’s a whole thing with Right of the Slayer, or something… honestly, it’s an ancient law and I don’t think it’s been used in centuries, but it hasn’t been taken off the books, as far as I know… Anyway, Professor Snape would probably bite your hand off to help, if you said you’d give him some venom, or something. Seriously, it would probably set you up for life and with the baby and everything…”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again immediately. Lyra was looking at him with such conviction, like she’d completely saved his bacon. He didn’t feel he could tell her that he was already made for life, with Vaults full of other people’s money that had suddenly been handed to him, that he’d never earned. At least the Basilisk had been an actual achievement, even if it had been a fluke.

“Maybe,” was all Harry said. It wasn’t as if he could just go sliding into the Chamber of Secrets while he was pregnant and go harvesting giant poisonous snakes, so it would be a few months before it was an issue. Maybe it would be a good idea to mention it to Professor Snape, though, as a thank you for the rooms any everything…

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each one wrapped in their own thoughts. Lyra had obviously moved on from the Basilisk and was muttering to herself. Harry occasionally caught words like ‘proof’ and ‘records’, but generally she just seemed to be saying ‘no, no, no’ to herself a lot.

Harry sipped at the cup of peppermint tea that Nippy left permanently filled and warmed by the side of his bed and he relaxed back into his soft pillows. He considered bringing up his dilemma over classes, but Lyra seemed so preoccupied. He wondered if it would be rude to suggest she left, so he could go back to sleep.

“Harry?” Lyra chimed out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“You Know Who was seriously a student at Hogwarts called Tom Riddle?”

Harry huffed in annoyance. How many times did they have to go over this? “Yes, I already said-!”

“And he was here at the same time as Hagrid?” she continued.

Seeing there was no way to distract her from whatever train of thought she was on, Harry deflated and answered tiredly, “Yes.”

Lyra bit her lip, “And do you think there would be records?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, shrugging. “Like I said, his Special Award is in the Trophy Cabinet and I guess the school must keep records…”

Lyra nodded to herself and leant forward with sudden intensity. “Harry, do you think you could write down everything you remember about Riddle, or You Know Who, or whatever you want to call him?”

Harry stared at her like she had gone made. Why would she want-? “Sure, but why?”

“A friend of mine wants to be a reporter when she’s older. Not like that!” she quickly backpedalled when she saw Harry stiffen. “I promise, nothing like Skeeter, or anything. She hates the Prophet. She really wants to do proper investigative journalism, like in the muggle papers.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly, not really seeing how this had anything to do with Voldemort.

“Like I said, loads of You Know Who’s supporters are complete blood purists. There is absolutely nothing out there about where he came from or anything. That’s one of the things that everyone found so terrifying about him – he was this monster who just appeared.”

Harry was beginning to see where this was going.

Lyra saw the realisation light his eyes and smiled. “If we could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that You Know Who, the Dark Lord, Evil McEvil incarnate, was just a half-blood who didn’t like his dad…”

“It would completely wreck the Death Eaters,” Harry finished off.

“Destroy them,” Lyra said gleefully. “I mean, they’re not a big faction anymore and I suppose they might carry on under a different guise, but it would take away their modus vivendi.”

“Woah,” Harry said, slightly overwhelmed by what Lyra was suggesting.

“I promise,” she said, handing him his cup of tea. “You wouldn’t have to do anything. If you can just give us the starting point… I don’t even know if anywhere would publish it, or if we’ll actually be able to find the sourced, and I would have to ask Annabelle, but maybe it could work.”

“Maybe,” Harry said quietly. I could be quite huge, though. Though maybe he wouldn’t be at the centre of it this time, if Lyra was telling the truth and would keep his name out of it.

Lyra squealed, which was a very odd sound for the circumstance, Harry thought, since he mainly associated it with Lavender and Parvati when they were discussing boys.

“Thanks Harry,” she jumped up and hugged him tightly. “Listen, I’ll come later to talk to you about it all properly, but I have to go tell Annabelle. This could be incredible!”

Before Harry could respond she leapt out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind her. He heard the front door click shut and after a beat of total silence, Harry slipped back under his covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the late update. Shockingly enough, not having enough time to write and then trying to update midweek is not sensible, so again being realistic (not my strong suit) Next update will be next Friday (1st Feb… Where is time going!!!).
> 
> Please leave a review!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the ridiculously long delay. The company I work for went through a rough patch and it looked like I was going to be out of a job for a while. Everything was fine in the end, but it was a very stressful couple of months and it took me a while to get back into the swing of things. Anyway, I hope you won’t be disappointed after the wait!
> 
> P.S. thank you all so much for the reviews and everyone asking if I was okay. It made me feel so much better and I’m really sorry, again, that it took so long to get this up.

Harry took a steadying breath. He stared at the door to one of the many disused classrooms Hogwarts had to offer and tried to push down the anxiety that was choking him. Madam Pomfrey had finally cleared him that morning, so his period of enforced isolation was at an end; the problem was, he really didn’t feel ready for that. He had actually quite enjoyed the quiet of Snape’s quarters, where he hadn’t had to deal with any of the fallout from his entire life being splashed across the Wizarding World, but he knew he couldn’t hide away forever – Snape had told him so, before kicking him out to go and see his Head of House.

He had just come from Professor McGonagall’s office, where he had finally sorted out his much revised schedule and he didn’t really feel he had the energy for anything else. Madam Pomfrey had said that if he felt he was getting too stressed out, he should go and lie down, but he didn’t think she would approve of him using that as an excuse for running away from what was behind this door, even if it was giving him a mild panic attack. 

He closed his eyes and laid his head on the smooth wood.

He knew that he would have to face this eventually. McGonagall had said that Hermione and Ron had been trying to see him since before the First Task and had got exponentially worse since the… incident. Apparently they knew about him staying with Snape. He couldn’t imagine Ron being very understanding about that, but if he was still willing to see Harry, maybe he could cope with it… unless he just wanted to shout. 

Harry sighed. Ron had every right to shout. Ron may have been an idiot, but he had been right – Harry had been a bad friend, to both Ron and Hermione. He should have trusted them. They both had every right to tell him to sod off. Harry knew he could do this on his own. Snape had told him that he could always get private accommodation, if he wanted. McGonagall, Mrs Weasley and even Snape seemed to think that everything would be fine, but they hadn’t seen how mad Ron had been, not only about the secrets Harry had been keeping, but the Tournament and everything. 

Pushing down his fears about what his best friends were going to say to him, and the knowledge that he deserved everything they could throw at him, Harry straightened his shoulders and shoved the door open.

Standing in the room, ignoring the armchairs that had clearly been transfigured by McGonagall, were his two best friends… or his once best friends… it wasn’t clear. 

Harry cleared his throat, hoping that one of them would make the first move. He had no idea what to do.

For want of a better idea, Harry busied himself with shutting the door tightly behind him. He told himself that it was so it was less likely someone would interrupt them – in this rarely used part of the castle, in a room no one had touched in probably thirty years – but he knew, not that deep in his heart it was so he could look away from their stricken faces. This was the first time ever that Hermione hadn’t tackled him into a stranglehold when she hadn’t seen him for more than a couple of days. Even after she had been unpetrified, which must have only felt like a couple of moments for her, she had hugged him so hard he could have sworn one of his ribs had cracked. Now she just stood there, her hands clasped in fronts of her. Ron was behind her, alternating between glaring at the floor and glancing at Harry worriedly. This wasn’t awkward at all.

Harry stepped into the room. Should he say something?

Pop. Hermione and Ron both jumped in surprise, but Harry was so used to it now that he didn’t even blink. Nippy could always be relied upon to be right on time, even at the most inconvenient moments.

“Mr Harry Potter be needing his snack,” she stated in a matter of fact tone.

Harry couldn’t swallow down the embarrassment of being told he needed a snack. The last few days Nippy had been popping up constantly, it seemed, forcing food on him. The frequent food did seem to be helping him put on weight, and it was easier for him to stomach, but he wasn’t sure how he was meant to keep up the practice and go to lessons, plus he couldn’t imagine Malfoy being very sympathetic to his need for a snack break.

Nippy tutted at his silence. “What would Mr Harry Potter be wantings?” she asked, not to be deterred. 

Harry bit his lip. Both Ron and Hermione were very deliberately averting their gazes. He sighed. Actually, he was sort of hungry and it wasn’t like Nippy would let him get away with saying he didn’t want anything.

“Some peanut butter and strawberry ice cream, please, Nippy,” he said softly.

Nippy nodded with grim determination, “And I’s be bringing yous some fruit salad as well,” she said before popping out again.

Harry chuckled humourlessly to himself and slipped passed Hermione into one of the plush, red armchairs and flopped down. A second later, Nippy appeared with his food and left just as quickly, completely ignoring the loitering duo behind him.

“Did you want anything?” Harry asked, pouring himself a cup of peppermint tea (that Nippy now brought him automatically) into the one available cup.

“I’m fine,” Hermione squeaked, tiptoeing over. Ron agreed with a grunt and collapsed into the final chair. “I didn’t know you had a House Elf,” she said.

Harry started in surprise. “Me!? No! I don’t…” he trailed off: he knew how she felt about House Elves, there was no way that was a neutral statement. His voice was hard when he finally found the words to retort, “Nippy is a Hogwarts Elf, who is also works for Professor Snape, if he needs anything. She has been helping me the last couple of weeks, because she was asked to. She is happy and well treated, Hermione, just like all the Hogwarts Elves.” Well, he didn’t know that for certain, but he couldn’t imagine that they were treated like Dobby, from the scraps of gossip Nippy gave him about the kitchens, or judging from her immaculate, crested tea towel uniform.

“Oh,” Hermione replied in a small voice. “She did look healthy, I suppose.”

It was true, Nippy’s lilac skin tone was a far cry from Dobby, or Winky’s grey complexions, but Harry wouldn’t claim to know enough House Elves to make a fair assessment. He ate a mouthful of ice cream in lieu of saying anything. 

“Is it okay?” Ron asked out of nowhere.

“Um… what?” Harry asked.

“The ice cream,” Ron elaborated, his ears matching his hair. “The… uh, the food’s been a bit funny this week. I just… wanted to make sure that it tasted all right and everything,” he said, looking anywhere but at Harry. 

Harry couldn’t help it – he doubled over with peals of laughter. He couldn’t believe Nippy and the other elves had followed through with their threat; he had assumed it had just been to make him feel better. He would never again underestimate house elves’ inability to use sarcasm.

“What?” Ron asked in an annoyed tone.

“Sorry,” Harry choked through his receding chuckles. “It’s not funny, it really isn’t. It’s just, it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Hermione gasped. “None of this-”

“I didn’t mean that,” Harry snapped. “Nippy said after the task that if people were ‘mean to me’ the house elves were going to cook everyone’s food without salt. I didn’t think she was serious, so I didn’t say anything. I guess they followed through.”

“I guess that means it’s my fault then, mate,” Ron said glumly. 

Harry swallowed uneasily. “No, it wasn’t-”

“Yeah it was,” Ron sighed. “Listen, Harry, I’m… I am so sorry for everything. All the stuff after the cup; not being there for you; what I said at lunch that day… it wasn’t cool. I didn’t know how to handle it, I guess – not that that’s an excuse! I just said all the wrong things and then I didn’t know how to take it back and I was so angry. Not at you! At the Dursleys and what they did to you, and at myself, I guess. You were right. I should have seen it and I didn’t and because of that you…”

Ron angrily swiped at the dew gathering on his eyelashes before Harry could acknowledge it. His insides shrivelled at the thought that he had done this to his friends. 

“Ron, I was being totally unreasonable-”

Ron cut him off, “No you weren’t. I was a complete prat and… I really am sorry.” Hermione made a small noise in agreement, not sounding like she could actually speak at that moment.

Harry looked down at his lap. “I know, mate.” And he did. He could see that Ron really was sorry, but as much as he wanted everything to just go back to the way things had been, that just wasn’t possible. “But, why did you act like that then? I don’t mean finding out about… the Dursleys, or anything. Why didn’t you believe me about the Goblet?” He sighed in relief as he finally allowed some of the hurt they had heaped on him to lace his tone.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck to the point of it turning an angry red. Harry wasn’t about to let him (them) off the hook again.

It took a few minutes for Ron to be able to find the words, while Hermione stayed curled up in her seat, staring at Harry with wide eyes, but unwilling to say anything until Ron did. Harry got the impression that they had rehearsed this, at least a little bit, and they had decided that she had to hang back; although, judging by the desperate glances Ron kept throwing at her, Harry didn’t think it was entirely Ron’s idea.

“I was jealous,” Ron eventually managed to blurt out. Harry cocked his head, listening. “You- Merlin’s pants, this sounds petty… is petty. You always seem to have everything. I know you don’t!” he quickly protested. “But it’s just how it seems. You have money, you know, and everyone’s always interested in you. You getting to be in the competition was the final straw, I guess and I sort of knew you didn’t enter, but I didn’t think and you have no idea how stupid I feel and-”

“It’s fine, Ron!” Harry said quickly. He wanted the apology, but it was alarming how worked up his friend was getting. “I understand, I guess. I mean, I don’t like it, but… I get it.”

“Thanks,” Ron muttered morosely. “You don’t have to.”

“I do, kind of.”

“’S still stupid.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” Harry grinned.

Ron chuckled back and both of them relaxed minutely.

Hermione coughed from her corner, “I need to apologise too, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “I really thought you’d believe me.” Harry knew he wasn’t being entirely fair, holding Hermione to a higher standard than Ron, but generally she could always be relied upon to be the voice of reason to Ron’s fits of temper. Her abandonment had been the hardest to cope with, especially before he had gone for help – if ever he had needed advice, it had been then.

“I know! I should have,” her eyes were very red. “You can’t make me feel any worse than I already do.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t want her to feel worse, but he did want to understand.

Hermione paused for a long second, before wiping her face down and taking a deep breath, as if McGonagall had asked a particularly difficult question that she was determined to answer.

“I didn’t know what to believe. You seemed so shocked by it all, but I knew you’d been keeping a secret and… I didn’t want it to be like last year again,” Hermione hung her head. “When no one was speaking to me, it felt like I was back in primary school, with no friends and everyone thinking I was a freaky know-it-all.”

Harry winced. That feeling was all too familiar to him. “I know how you feel,” he said. 

“Of course you do. I’m so sorry, Harry. I was just so cross that you were lying to me, or at least that’s what it felt like. I felt like if you couldn’t trust me, then why should I trust you and it all just got out of hand.”

That was one way of putting it, Harry snorted. “I wasn’t trying to lie to you, Hermione. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“I get that now,” she sniffed. “Really, I do. I don’t want to justify it…”

“Please just tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “The night before the Champions were announced, you disappeared and I didn’t know where you’d gone. And then when everybody thought you’d entered your name, I just couldn’t find a logical reason as to why you hadn’t done it.”

“Maybe because I’ve never wanted anything to do with this sort of thing,” Harry pointed out.

“I know… look, Harry, like I said, I know I’ve messed up. Really. Mrs Weasley wrote to my parents – I did too, but she made sure they know everything – as soon as I get home I’m grounded for… well, ever, I guess.”

“Me too,” Ron muttered. 

“It was the most stupid thing I’ve ever done, and you have no idea how ashamed I am. Mum wrote to say that if you needed anything – support, or picking muggle things up, or anything like that – she was always there. And she sent me a reliable book on pregnancy, ‘so I won’t ask you too many questions’, she said, and she also told me to actually listen to you, rather than rely on the book too much… I really am sorry about what I said in the Hall, it was none of my business. I just didn’t know what else to do. I was trying to be helpful, but got it massively wrong, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It’s fine. It’s done. It wasn’t your fault and I wouldn’t have known how to react if I was in your shoes, but could you try talking to me properly first from now on?”

Hermione nodded fervently and Harry leant back and stirred some berries into his now melted ice cream, until it was a coagulase gloop. They both seemed truly sorry, and not just because their mums told them to be. He didn’t think he could go back to trusting them properly yet… maybe ever, if he was being truly honest with himself, but he needed his friends back. Even in the stilted atmosphere of this arranged meeting, it felt good to know they were on his side, at least for now.

His two friends fidgeted in the silence, waiting for him to say something. It probably was his turn, after all. Harry tried to find the words to respond. He had been thinking about this a lot and thought he knew what he wanted to say.

“I… I’ve been reading Pride and Prejudice this week.”

“Oh!” Hermione squealed. “I love that book.”

Of course she did, Harry half smiled. “Yeah. It’s good. And… I was thinking, most of the problems they all have is from not telling each other what is actually going on and everyone drawing the wrong conclusions – like with Wickham and Darcy’s sister, or Mr Bingley thinking Jane doesn’t really love him. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, if you don’t do the second thing, I’ll try and not do the first.” It wouldn’t solve everything, but he couldn’t lay all of it at his friends’ door. If their friendship was going to ever get close to how it had been, he was going to have to meet them halfway. 

Ron furrowed his eyebrows decoding that. Hermione nodded fervently.

“We will do Harry. And thank you,” Hermione said. “It’s such an interesting book, don’t you think? I always used to hate Austen when I was younger – I just found her environments too oppressive, I guess – but mum gave me a copy to read over the summer and I couldn’t put it down. I hadn’t realised how funny she is! It’s such an interesting look at the social structures of the time, as well. I mean, most analyses say we shouldn’t take the title at face value and I completely agree, but-”

She was cut off by Ron’s stomach growling and it was almost immediately echoed by a grumble from Hermione’s own.

Harry smirked. “Are you hungry?”

“Well, the food’s been rubbish, hasn’t it?” Ron moaned. 

Unashamed of his slightly petty mirth, Harry called Nippy and she immediately popped into the room, hands on her hips and already glaring at the hungry Gryffindors. “Nippy, it’s okay, we’ve sorted stuff out. Listen, could you bring some sandwiches, for all of us this time, and maybe some pumpkin juice. Oh, and you don’t need to keep sabotaging the food in the Great Hall, but thanks for that, it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Nippy beamed at him, before her face went back into a hard scowl, “Yous be eating, Mr Harry Potter. I’s brings yous, don’t worry, and the Elvsies be being nice to the students again, even if theys don’t be deserving it.”

With that she popped out again, leaving a sniggering Harry and bemused Ron and Hermione.

“So,” Hermione said at length. “That’s a Hogwarts House Elf.”

“Yeah, a bit different,” Harry said.

As soon as the loaded platters of sandwiches appeared, they both fell on them like ravenous wolves – it almost made Harry feel bad. Almost. He ate his lovely gloop.

“It was morning sickness, you know,” Harry said, scooping up a peanut butter soacked blueberry.

“What was?” Hermione asked between swallows.

“Where I was the night before the names were chosen.”

Ron looked up with his cheeks stuffed like a hamster. “But it wasn’t morning!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Whoever named it clearly never had it. It can hit any time, but by then, for me, it was mainly in the evenings. I didn’t want anyone to hear me throw up.”

“And that was why you kept disappearing,” Hermione said, as if it had only just dawned on her. “Is that how you knew you were… pregnant.”

“Mostly,” Harry said. “At first I thought it was flu, or a reaction to the Imperius practice – I was so shaky afterwards. But there were some other things that I remembered from… from last time.” Harry swallowed past the lump that shot to his throat and prayed that he wouldn’t start crying again. Not only had he had enough of that for one week, but he didn’t think Ron would like it and Hermione would probably go so far into overdrive that she’d hurt herself trying to comfort him.

“Harry, I’m so…” Hermione had tears on her face again. “I can’t believe you had to go through that alone. I wished we could have-”

“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” Harry sighed, jamming his hands into his eyes. 

“What other things?” Ron asked curiously.

Grateful for the change of subject, Harry cleared his throat. “Dry skin. More spots than usual – at least it’s not on my face this time, I was giving Eloise Midgeon a run for her money in second year. Having to pee all the time. My chest is really sore-”

“Your chest!?” Ron exclaimed. “You mean, you’re growing breasts or something?”

“Not yet,” Harry said, rubbing his neck self-consciously. “Apparently they’ll come in at around five or six months. They’re just sore at the moment.” Seeing the disgusted expression on Ron’s face, Harry rolled his eyes, but managed to not get cross. “How else am I meant to feed the baby when they come?”

“I dunno. Hadn’t thought about that,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not going to lie, mate, it’s a bit weird.”

“Sure. Weird. Not like it really affects you, or anything, though,” Harry said petulantly. 

“S’ppose not,” Ron said.

“I suppose it must be hormonal,” Hermione mused.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. 

“Well, if you need a bra at any point, just tell me and I can take you to Madam Pomfrey and she can give you one.”

“Hermione!” Ron shouted. “You can’t talk about things like that!”

Hermione glared at him. “Honestly, Ron, where do you think we get all our stuff from?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he hissed back. “You don’t talk about it.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms.

“You just don’t.”

“Bras. Periods. Under arm-”

“Hermione!”

“Grow up, Ron. Anyway, Harry, like I said, if you start getting uncomfortable, even a training bra helps. It might even be good now, since it would cut down on chafing, if your nipples are sensitive.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, trying to ignore how much he was blushing. He was pretty certain he still had nothing on Ron. “I think I’m okay at the moment, but I’ll bear that in mind. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this stuff in front of Ron, though. I think it might give him a heart attack.”

“Yes. Well… Ron should get over it. It’s just part of life,” she said through pursed lips. “So, is it still bad?”

“Can we stop talking about nipples?” Ron moaned.

“I meant his morning sickness,” Hermione growled.

“Oh.”

“I’m still getting nauseous a lot, but I haven’t actually thrown up in a few days,” Harry said. “Honestly, just switching off for a few days was probably necessary. Snape wouldn’t even let me near my schoolwork.”

Hermione looked absolutely scandalised. “But-”

“So you really have been staying with Snape?” Ron asked with a stiffly neutral tone.

While it was clear Ron was doing his best not to let his temper run away with him, Harry could see an angry flush working its way up his neck. He had known that if the two of them ever made up, his living arrangements were going to be a sticking point and he was not entirely convinced that he would be able to make Ron see it from his point of view. 

“Snape was the only person with a guest room available,” Harry said.

“But why didn’t you move later?” Ron asked. “The greasy git can’t have been nice to live with, so-”

“Actually, Ron, Professor Snape has been really good the last couple of weeks,” Harry said. His voice was strangely high and his hands were sweating as he set about defending the reviled teacher. “He made sure everything was done properly so that everyone took me seriously about Uncle Vernon and the baby. He gave me a really nice room and has made sure I’ve been eating and any time there’s been a problem, he’s sorted it out for me. He’s still a greasy git and difficult, but ever since I went to him-”

“You went to him!?” Ron shouting, jumping to his feet. Harry followed suit.

“Yes I did. Who else was I meant to go to?”

They were nose to nose, both breathing heavily. Harry’s heart sank as they finally got to the confrontation that had been simmering below the surface since he had come in.

“You could have come to me and Hermione. Or Professor McGonagall, or Dumbledore, or Hagrid, or… Anyone!” Ron said.

“Do you really still not get it? Did you read the article at all, or was that the one time you decided to talk to me about it instead?” Harry sneered. He retook his seat and glared at Ron until Hermione dragged him back down as well, muttering to him about sensitivity, but not making any move to explain it to him. Maybe she didn’t really get it either.

Harry snorted at how thick both his friends could sometimes be. “Every time I have tried to tell someone in the past, it hasn’t worked at all. I told Dumbledore I didn’t want to go back and he didn’t listen. McGonagall’s never listened to me when I’ve gone to her for help and I didn’t know if she would do that again. And Hagrid? Seriously?”

Ron shrugged, but looked slightly chastened.

“I just wanted to go to someone who would listen. And Snape does that. I heard some people in the library a couple of years ago and it turns out he helps kids from not great backgrounds.”

“That actually makes sense,” Hermione mused. “He does get things done and… you know I think I heard something in the loos about that once.”

Ron still didn’t look convinced. “But it’s Snape,” he insisted.

“He helped me, Ron,” Harry said. “He took me seriously.”

“We would have taken you seriously,” Ron said in a small voice.

“I know,” Harry sighed. “But… I don’t know, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Hogwarts is safe and you two have never really had anything to do with the Dursleys and I guess I didn’t know how to stop that. I was ashamed, I suppose.”

“That’s stupid,” Ron said. “You didn’t have anything to be ashamed about. It was them who were the idiots. You didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t say it made sense,” Harry said.

“I wondered why your uncle wasn’t your Boggart,” Hermione said out of nowhere, it seemed. “Was that why? You were at Hogwarts, so it was all right?”

Harry looked at Hermione incredulously. Wouldn’t it be better to help him out with Ron than focus on that? “I suppose,” he said. “I didn’t really think about it at the time. I think the thing about the Dementors is that they made me feel like Uncle Vernon made me feel and everything else at once, so in a way it was the Dursleys, just not looking like them.”

“That’s really fascinating,” said Hermione. “I always feel awful when Dementors are near, but not like that. It’s more like a generalised misery than anything specific. I wonder how the scaling of emotions and experience works, since arguably everyone has a ‘worst’ experience, so-”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Can we not do this right now? I’m really not up to it.”

She blushed bright red. “Sorry,” she said. “I just can’t help it. I don’t know what to do… how to help and it’s just easier to concentrate on other things.”

“I get it,” Harry said. “I actually really understand and I like that tactic too. I just really don’t want to talk about dementors right now.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione smiled.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, since Ron clearly didn’t want to bring up Snape again. Harry leant forward and snagged one of the sandwiches from the refilling plates: cheese and pickle, which wasn’t usually a combination he went for, but seemed to ting off his taste buds very nicely at that moment. Harry concentrated on eating, as Ron and Hermione had a silent, but extremely obvious conversation across from him. ‘You ask him’, ‘no, you’, seemed to be the gist of it, but didn’t really want to interrupt. He had found the afternoon so far extremely tiring and was looking forward to going back to his room, at least for tonight – ironically, that was probably what Ron and Hermione wanted to discuss.

Finally, Ron gave in. “So… Do you want to come back to the tower?”

Harry frowned. “Like, right now for a visit, or to move back?”

“Um… both, I guess.” Ron dug his toe into the floor, refusing to look Harry in the eye again.

Harry sighed. He had already discussed this with Professor McGonagall and he knew that he couldn’t stay with Snape forever. The man was grumpy now – an unwanted, screaming baby living in his guest room with a student that until recently he had found to be on a par with a Blast Ended Skrewt would probably send him completely mad – the school would not survive the fallout… not that an invitation had been extended. Harry knew he was on borrowed time in his current room.

As far as he could see he had two options, which Professor McGonagall had confirmed at their meeting. One: make up with the Gryffindors and stay in his old bed until he could be provided with rooms somehow attached to the tower, so that he would still be connected with his friends; or two: become a houseless student and get assigned rooms somewhere in the castle, so he would go to lessons, but otherwise be cut off from the rest of the student body. 

When he really thought about it, he didn’t really have a choice. Unless everyone in the tower were still being complete gits, he would be moving back. He had already told McGonagall.

The tiredness that had plagued him all week tugged at his brain and he sighed, before smiling at Ron. “I won’t be moving back tonight, because I need to sort out my stuff, but yeah, I’m moving back for now.”

“That’s great!” Hermione said brightly. “Shall we go and see everyone? They’ve been dying to talk to you for days.”

“Sure,” Harry said, pushing himself up with a sigh.

They made their way through the corridors silently at first. It was surprisingly quiet for a rainy Saturday – usually they would have passed at least four games of exploding snap by now.

“Nearly everyone’s confined to their Common Rooms,” Hermione said, as if reading his mind. “Everyone who was wearing those awful badges… Everyone in Gryffindor… in the end, I think most people are staying in, to stay with their friends if nothing else.”

“Plus the weather’s foul,” Ron said, looking out at the Durmstrang ship being tossed about on the lake. 

“There is that,” Hermione nodded.

Harry bit his lip. “Are you sure it’ll be okay? Me coming back, I mean?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Hermione exclaimed.

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “I’m why you’re all being punished and generally that doesn’t make people particularly like you.”

“Nobody thinks that, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed.

Ron, ever blunt, pulled a face. “Well, most people don’t. Honestly, most of us feel like gits for what’s happened and since the professors are actually paying attention to what Malfoy’s doing now, two weeks doesn’t seem that bad in return, especially since we did mess up. But, McLaggen and his goons are being a bit stroppy about the whole thing. I think it’s because Snape had him gutting fermented newts and apparently he has a weak stomach, so…”

“Excellent,” Harry groaned.

“Everyone’s just telling him to shut up, mate,” Ron reassured him quickly. “We’re on your side, I swear.”

Harry smiled at him thinly as they made their way up to the Fat Lady.

“HARRY!” 

Harry jumped at the shout and spun round to find Fred and George running up to them.

“What are you two doing out here?” Hermione asked suspiciously. “Everyone’s confined to the Common Room. You’re going to get in trouble if Professor McGonagall finds you out here.”

“Meeting with Professor Flitwick about Charms NEWT,” Fred grinned. “We had permission and everything.”

“Yeah, we’re turning into right goody two shoes,” George said, mussing Ron’s hair, much to his little brother’s annoyance. 

“Hardly,” Hermione sighed. “I know you’ve been testing those sweets-”

“On second years and up, Hermione,” Fred frowned. “You didn’t say anything about them.”

Hermione glared and whipped round to march to the Fat Lady. Ron glared at the duo, flattening his hair, and grabbed Harry to pull him along behind. Harry quickly disentangled himself and hung back with the twins.

It only took a moment for the pair of them to apologise with matching – slightly subdued – grins.

“Sorry, Harry.”

“We should have done better.”

“Can’t trust us to think beyond our noses sometimes.”

“If we were Ron, that would give us a bit more scope -”

“Hey!”

“– But we’re sorry we didn’t get you out of that situation when we should have.”

Harry shrugged self-consciously, not used to any level of sincerity from the two of them. “’S all right. No one wants to be a snitch, I get it. I went to Snape pretty quickly, and the cupboard was quite comfortable, actually-” 

“We didn’t just mean for the bullies,” Fred said.

Harry paused, checking to see that Ron and Hermione were far enough ahead. Both the twins were watching him with an intensity he would never have associated with the two pranksters. 

“You were right. We did realise something was wrong at the Dursleys. Not all of it,” George glanced at Harry’s stomach, in a way that was getting old fast. “But we figured out enough.”

“There wasn’t anything you could have-”

“Yes there was,” Fred said. “We know we messed up and there’s nothing you can say to change that. Ignoring things doesn’t make them okay. We won’t do it again, I promise.”

Very aware of how loudly he was breathing, Harry could do nothing but look at them. He had no idea how to react to them being so… mature.

Then George grinned. “In the meantime, that kid’s going to need some fun uncles, because Ron is going to be terrified in the face of a kid and Hermione will probably only do   
educational stuff, so we would like to volunteer our services as bad influences.”

Unable to help himself, Harry snorted. “Who else would I choose?” he laughed. “But it would be nice if you could wait until their at least semi-mobile, don’t do anything that could hurt them and you can’t turn them against me.”

“Would we ever!?” they exclaimed in uniform horror.

Harry laughed again and they started to walk in companionable silence to the now open portrait, where Ron and Hermione were both hovering.

That was the first time anyone had talked about the baby actually coming, Harry thought, dropping his hand to his belly. They were real and coming and it could be good – not the apocalypse that kept going through his head and he could see written on the faces of everyone who just saw that he was a pregnant fourteen year old. 

Smiling at the twins as they bowed him through the portrait hole, Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even stop to think about the fact that everyone in Gryffindor was going to be in the Common Room. House arrest suddenly seemed like the worst punishment they could possibly have been given.

“Hi Harry,” Dean said awkwardly, coming over to shake his hand… which was weird and judging by the way Dean’s eyes widened as soon as he started to wring Harry’s hand, he knew it too. 

Dean jumped back, revealing Seamus, who waved from a distance. Harry nodded back. He had never been close to the Irish boy, always getting the impression he resented Harry somehow. Out of all his dorm mates, Seamus had been the most aggressively vocal in favour of making Harry’s life a misery – considering the temper he had on him, Harry wasn’t surprised that the others hadn’t put up much of a fight. Still, he seemed pretty quiet now, if a little tense. If they could just go back to quietly ignoring each other, it would be fine.

A shock of dark red hair slid into view, covering the bowed face of Ginny. Hermione patted her shoulder comfortingly. 

“Hey, Ginny,” Harry said tiredly. Ginny had finally started acting normal around him over the summer, but the baby was not going to help matters – she was back to behaving like she had when she was when she was eleven and had that crush on him. When everything had kicked off, Ginny hadn’t exactly taken sides, but she had remained pointedly quiet; Harry hadn’t been too bothered by this, however, as she had never spoken with him much while at school. Out of all the Weasley children, he had not expected Ginny to stand up for him. 

“Hi, Harry,” she whispered, shuffling around and still standing with her head bowed. “I’m so sorry for not standing up for you-”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Harry laughed, softly. “Honestly, I wouldn’t expect you to-” 

“But I should have,” Ginny said sharply, snapping her head up. Her eyes with red and sore looking, but filled with fiery determination. “You saved my life and have always been nice to me, even after the diary and I nearly let all of those terrible things happen, because I was too stupid… and you know everything that happened and have never judged me for it. I never thought you put your name in and I should have stood up for you.”

Harry took all of that in, slowly. He had no idea she still felt so strongly about second year – she had seemed to have got over it all by the time the Weasleys were back from Egypt, but clearly not.

Harry reached for Ginny’s shoulder, “Listen, Ginny… I don’t blame you for any of what happened. It wasn’t your fault at all and I’m really happy I could stop it, but that doesn’t mean you owe me anything. You know that, right?”

She shrugged, but nodded jerkily.

Unconvinced, Harry continued. “All right, then. But, if you ever need to talk about what happened, you can come to me. He took me in too, remember.”

“But you’ve got… to worry about,” Ginny said incredulously, waving at his stomach.

Harry placed a hand over his little bump and smiled a genuine smile. “Doesn’t mean I don’t still have time for my friends.”

Ginny smiled back at him with watery eyes and folded him into a quick, awkward hug, before she scampered off to join Colin Creevey by the window.

“Harry!” Ron called. “Come over here. We kicked everyone off. I think you can get dibs on this spot permanently now. Pregnant perks and all.” 

“Ron!” Hermione admonished, as Harry moved to join them in the best armchairs by the fireplace.

“What?” Ron exclaimed.

Hermione threw her hands in the air and declared him impossible.

“It’s fine, Hermione,” Harry sighed. “Honestly, they are comfortable.” He sank into the chair directly in front of the fireplace and embraced the homeliness of it all, with the heat from the fire washing over his face and the smell of cinnamon that was always present in the common room tickling his nose.

“Well, I’m sure nobody would mind giving you priority access, then,” Hermione acquiesced.

Harry hummed in response.

“Hey, Harry.”

Harry looked up. “Oh! Hey, Neville. How are you?”

“All right,” Neville shrugged. “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked sheepishly.

“Sure,” Harry said, gesturing to the empty spot on the sofa. “I’m usually happy to just sit on the floor, but these chairs are so comfy, aren’t they,” he said, snuggling down.

“Yeah,” Neville said, seeming nervous. “Is your back hurting? I heard that’s something happened to pregnant wo- when people are pregnant.”

“Um… a bit sore, but so far not too bad. The thing in the entrance hall was round ligament pain from the baby growing, which isn’t too bad usually. I think it was so bad because of stress and then I just sort of over reacted a bit. I’ve had it a couple of times since then, I think, and managed not to freak out,” Harry said. Of course it was going to come up, and it was far better if it happened on his terms.

Hermione choked, “I’m glad it wasn’t anything serious.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, glaring at his lap.

Harry shrugged, “Like I said, I overreacted.”

Neville, meanwhile, was staring at Harry’s stomach, where his robes had flattened to his midriff.

“It’s strange seeing you with a belly. You’ve always been so skinny,” he observed absentmindedly, before he realised what he had said and his mouth fell open in horror. “Harry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, Neville,” Harry laughed. “You’re the first person to notice. I thought I was going mad, because I was the only one to see it. I still feel good about it. Give it a few months and I probably won’t feel the same way!”

“What are you talking about, mate?” Ron said, leaning in to get a better look. “You don’t look any different to me.”

“See,” Harry said to Neville. Neville grinned at him.

“I suppose you must be growing by now, being sixteen weeks along and everything,” Hermione pointed out.

“Fifteen and a half,” Harry corrected.

Hermione huffed. “But in the Great Hall you said-”

“I’m just being fussy, Hermione. Sorry,” Harry sighed.

“No… that’s right and proper,” she said after a second. “I’m… I’m just trying to keep up, but I guess I need to actually talk to you about it, rather than just assume everything, don’t I?”

“Might help,” Harry smiled.

“Bloody hell, mate!” Ron exclaimed. “You really are bigger!”

Tactful as ever, Harry thought, as he flattened his robes tight over the convex curve that now sat slightly proud of his hips. “Not massively, but, yeah.”

“Oooo!” Lavender squealed, causing the rest of the group to jump, since none of them had noticed the rest of the fourth years come over. Dean pulled Seamus onto the floor, while Lavender and Parvati took it upon themselves to perch on each arm of Harry’s chair, effectively hemming him in.

“It’s so cute that you have a little baby in there!” Lavender squeaked and Parvati reached down to feel his belly.

“Hey!” Harry yelped, swatting her hand away.

“I just wanted to feel,” Parvati protested. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t want you to,” Harry said, placing a protective hand over his bump and rearranging his robes back so that it was covered.

Parvati’s face fell and Seamus glared at him. 

“You don’t have to be so harsh,” the Irish boy grouched.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but knew that Seamus would never listen to him and Parvati would never understand his need for personal boundaries, so really, what was the point? He guessed that as soon as he got a bit bigger, he would have to get used to random people grabbing him, but that did not mean he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

“I know,” he sighed. “Sorry, Parvati, but next time could you ask, or something?” he said, angling his body away to try and discourage another attack.

“Fine,” Parvati said grumpily. She and Lavender hopped off the chair and instead went to push Neville onto the floor, so they could cram themselves onto his seat, jostling   
Hermione in the process. They were both giggling the entire time, so clearly hadn’t taken it too badly. Neville rolled his eyes and settled back down in front of the fire.

“So, are you coming back to the Tower, Harry?” Dean asked.

“Looks like it,” Harry replied. “I need to pack everything up, but I should be moving back tonight or tomorrow at the latest.”

“And then back in classes on Monday?” Hermione checked.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed. “I’m going to be getting some extra classes anyway, so that I won’t fall too far behind when the baby comes, so I guess I’ll catch up with those.”

Neville nodded. “We haven’t covered that much this week, to be honest.”

“Extra lessons!? Tough luck, mate,” Ron groaned. 

“I’ll live,” he said.

“Are you bringing the points back with you?” Seamus asked morosely.

“Um… yeah. They’ll be added as soon as I move back in,” Harry said quietly. Truthfully, he didn’t really want to add the points he’d got from the task to Gryffindor’s tally, but holding them back would have brought far more trouble than it was worth. It wasn’t like they really meant anything.

“That’s good,” the Irish boy nodded. “We’ve really fallen behind. But, I suppose, you probably think that’s fair…”

Harry chose, once again, to keep his mouth shut. He had a nasty feeling that too long in the dorms and he might end up biting his tongue clean in two. He supposed it was the closest thing to acknowledgement he was going to get from Seamus, even if it was said with all the grace of the giant squid trying to get onto land.

Unknowingly, Lavender decided to save them all from an awkward conversation by shrieking again, “I can’t believe there’s a little baby in you!” at Harry, at top volume. “Do you have a picture, like muggles get?” she stared at him with expectation burning in her eyes.

Harry let his fingers brush over the pocket that contained a copy of his ultrasound picture. Part of him had been thinking about showing it to Ron and Hermione – maybe Neville, too – but he didn’t feel like taking it out for the group.

“I don’t have it out right now,” not technically a lie. “Maybe another time.”

Lavender squealed again. “It’ll be SO cute.”

With the impeccable timing that either came naturally to them, or was cultivated over years of distracting arguments in a large household – either way, Harry didn’t care, he was just grateful – Fred and George popped up behind them, holding a pack of cards and a pile of Honeydukes treats.

“Thought we’d share some of our stash,” Fred explained, throwing down the sweets. Harry grabbed a liquorice wand off the top, before anyone else could even take in what was happening.

George grinned at him. “And a hereby set forth a challenge that no one can beat me – the reigning exploding snap champion of many weeks – in an epic contest of skill, daring and –”

“-Complete luck,” Hermione said. “It’s completely random who wins,” she groused, having never in her life won a game.

“That sounds great, guys,” Harry said. “If you set up, we can make an afternoon of it, before I head down to pack.” Judging from the lack of reaction, Ron seemed to have had the sense to not tell Seamus where he had been staying, which was one less thing to worry about.

“On it,” the twins said in unison, pouncing into midst of the fourth years, ordering them all onto the ground and organising them indiscriminately into teams, since there were too many of them to play individually.

“Great,” Harry said. “We’ll do that and as soon as I get back you can tell me what’s been going on, that doesn’t involve everyone gossiping about me.” 

The twins laughed as Harry hauled himself to his feet.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Hermione exclaimed, stretching round to see where he was going.

“I’m fine. Just going to the loo.”

“Oh. It’s not morning sickness, is it? I’ve been looking up remedies…” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I just need to pee… again! And don’t worry: Nippy has me drinking peppermint tea by the pint whether I’m feeling sick or not. That seems to work fine, but it does have its own side effect. I’ll be back in a minute.”

…

The Weasley twins really were geniuses, Harry decided as he made his way back to the dungeons. The afternoon had been so full of games of exploding snap, with increasingly ridiculous rules and forfeits, that no one had had time to question, or even really talk to Harry at all – he had slipped out of the Gryffindor Common Room with minimal fuss, which he hadn’t thought would be possible.

“Did Professor McGonagall allay your fears over Divination?” Snape asked before Harry had even closed the door. 

“She agreed I should drop it, especially since I probably won’t be able to get up the ladder in a few months and the fumes are a bit much. Plus I don’t think she’s very… fond of Divination,” Harry said.

“No,” Snape smirked at the journal he was reading. “I should say not.” 

Harry flopped into his seat. “I’m going to take the Muggle Studies exam to make up for it, but Professor McGonagall said I shouldn’t have to take the classes, since I lived with muggles and it should all be fairly easy for me, but I’m going to have a look at the textbook to make sure.”

“I’m sure you will know the material adequately,” Snape said, without interest.

Harry frowned at him, not sure that that was the case, considering how rarely he had gone out with the Dursleys and he much trouble he had answering the most simple of Mr Weasley’s questions, such as the point of a rubber duck – having never had one, or seen the need for one himself, he really hadn’t got a clue. Plus, it felt a bit like cheating, taking an exam without the lessons. “Why aren’t you more bothered? You wouldn’t stop pestering me earlier.”

Snape looked up irritably. “I would hardly classify stating a need as pestering. And you should know by now, Potter, that I am capable of holding a civil conversation with you Head of House.”

“I suppose,” Harry sighed, not liking that they were talking about him, but knowing there was no logical reason why his two teachers shouldn’t discuss his class choices. “I didn’t know that was an option, though… just taking the exam, I mean. Why don’t all muggleborns do it?”

Snape regarded him beadily. “While it is not an actively publicised fact, most students in that position take advantage of the system, so it is assumed that everyone knows about it.”

“I don’t think Hermione knows,” Harry said.

“Miss Granger was informed of the option in Second Year, when she chose to take the subject and then again when she relinquished it. None of you will be entered for your exams until next year, but anyone who has shown interest will be asked again at that point.”

“And if you haven’t shown interest?” Harry asked, still stung by the fact that his best friend hadn’t told him about an extra qualification he could get.

“Everyone who has spoken to their Head of House is aware of it, and since everyone speaks to their Head of House at some point…” Snape trailed off, eying Harry sideways. “Or at least it was assumed.”

Harry flopped his head back, fed up with feeling stupid and very tired. “I honestly didn’t know,” he sighed. His eyes were prickling, although he knew he had no reason to cry. He swiped at them angrily.

Snape inclined his head. “I believe the system is to be more formalized from now on.”

“Great,” Harry grouched. “So idiots like me won’t miss out.”

“So we won’t miss problems that could otherwise be rectified,” Snape corrected, turning back to his journal.

Harry rolled his eyes. As far as he knew, no one else had been stupid enough to avoid their Head of House, so Snape could say whatever he liked, but Harry knew it was a new measure because of his stupidity. It still rankled that no one in his year, at least, never mind his friends, had mentioned it. 

Snape allowed him to wallow for a moment before changing the subject. 

“Am I to take it, from the lack of histrionics, that meeting with your Housemates was a success?”

“I guess,” Harry said.

Snape scowled at him. “Am I to understand that you will therefore be moving back to the dormitories?”

He could understand whatever he wanted, Harry thought irritably. “I guess,” he said again. “It’ll make everyone happy and Professor McGonagall said I’d be going into my own rooms pretty soon anyway.”

“Indeed,” Snape said, putting down his journal. “And you feel safe in these circumstances?”

“Of course I do,” Harry snapped. “Why wouldn’t I feel safe?”

Snape just stared at him.

Harry rubbed a hand over his forehead, not dislodging his racing thoughts, but thoroughly messing up his hair even more than nature did already. “They won’t do anything,” he said. “They all seem really sorry for what happened and like they want to move on.”

“Typical Gryffindors,” Snape sneered. “And did they stop for a minute to consider that you might not be ready for such an action?”

Harry supressed a grin. He wondered if Snape realised he had just implied that Harry wasn’t a typical Gryffindor? Coming from him that was practically a compliment. “It’s fine,” he said. “Not as if I’ll be in there for long and at least this way everyone’s happy.”

Snape observed him in the same manner he would a problematically stored ingredient. “If you are not ready-”

“I’m fine!” Harry insisted. He could feel himself going red and Snape’s face was taking on a dangerous edge at being interrupted. “I… I want to move back in with my friends. I want everything to go back to normal.”

“You are aware that that is impossible,” Snape said, lowing his eyes to Harry’s midriff.

Harry sighed and placed a protective hand over his stomach instinctively. He had spent the entire day trying not to draw attention to his bump any more than necessary and, quite frankly, it was exhausting. Everyone knew and half the people wanted to talk about it and the other half seemed freaked out by the entire thing – there was no way of pleasing both parties and he had found the entire afternoon draining.

“I know,” he said eventually. “I just- it’ll be better if I move back in. I talked it through with Professor McGonagall and we agreed that the… transition will be easier if I’m in the   
House.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “And I’m sure she also said – though whether you heard it or not is another matter – that should the Gryffindor’s behaviour deteriorate again, you are to go to a teacher immediately and you will be supported in being removed from the situation.”

Sure, Harry thought morosely, and then I’ll just be out on my own again. You want me out, which is fair enough, and I don’t have anywhere else to go.

Instead, he rose to his feet and said, “I need to go and pack. I hope it’s okay that I stay another night? I told everyone that I’d move back tomorrow.”

“The room is there for your use, Mr Potter,” Snape replied. 

For now, Harry thought, moving to the door.

“I was planning on dining here tonight, Mr Potter,” Snape said suddenly, as he picked his journal back up. “If you wish to delay your return to the hordes, you may join me.”

Harry’s eyes prickled. He didn’t know how to tell Snape that the rooms had become the closest thing to a proper home, outside the dormitories, he had ever had and that the thought of leaving them made his stomach twist, or that he had come to rely on Snape’s blunt attempts to help. He didn’t want to admit how much it hurt that he was being forced to leave. He couldn’t make the man offer to let him stay, when there was a screaming baby on the way, by admitting to all this – based on his recent behaviour, Snape would make the offer out of pure obligation, no matter his feelings on Harry. Still, the fact that Snape was willing to give up his free evening to Harry’s company meant that maybe this tentative truce/understanding might continue after Harry had walked out of the door. Maybe.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry whispered, before opening the door to go and pack up his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was okay!
> 
> Please leave a review, if you want… they cheer me up every time!!!
> 
> This story is 100% planned and I am fully committed to finishing it. The next chapter is fully written in my head and I now just need to get it onto paper/screen. It won’t take as long this time (I promise), but I can’t say for definite that it will be out in two weeks, even if that is my aim.


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